


The Spy Who Loved Me

by Aredhel_Alcarin



Category: GOT7
Genre: A bunch of cameos of other idols, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, More like enemies who sometimes fuck to kinda friends to lovers, Slow Burn, This is going to be long, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-26 22:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13867653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aredhel_Alcarin/pseuds/Aredhel_Alcarin
Summary: There’s something weird going on with the South Korean underworld, its mafia clans and organized crime gangs changing their usual behavior and acting strangely fond of each other without having any apparent shared goal. Jackson Wang, a secret agent working for the HSC –one of South Korea’s intelligence agencies–, is having trouble to find any leads for this case to present to his boss while also trying to keep his partner from being fired (why can’t an agent date a civilian?).An apparently easy assignment that doesn’t go as planned it’s the starting point of a series of events that will bring back a certain someone from the past that will turn Jackson’s life (and the whole HSC) upside down.--(Alternatively: Criminal by Briney Spears but Jackson’s the one in love with a criminal.)





	1. File 01

It’s a nice, quiet morning.

They are at a relatively small park in Itaewon, a mildly cute, kind of old green area you wouldn’t pay any attention to unless you lived in the surroundings and used to play there as a kid; not that there are any children at the moment, being a Tuesday and all.

Jackson checks his watch and decides he has time for one last round of jogging, his eyes sharp at anything that may be different from when he arrived twenty-two minutes ago. Coming early is a good way to avoid looking out of place, his forehead genuinely sweaty and his tracksuit jacket wrinkled around the inner part of his elbows thanks to the previous exercise. His sneakers tap the paved paths with a rhythmic, deaf sound as he repositions his left earpiece (there isn’t any music playing, but it’s important that anyone who may see him would think otherwise).

There are still four people, aside from his partner and himself: a middle-aged couple walking their probably also middle-aged dog, an artsy, dyed girl drawing (she is good, but Jackson stopped himself from giving her a thumbs-up because the less he interacts with people, the less they will remember him), and a tall, young man reading a book. Their target is nowhere to be seen for the moment but it’s still a bit early, so Jackson doesn’t dwell on it.

Supposing said target won’t enter the park stepping on the grass there are six access points and Jackson has a good outlook of three of them, the trees long and sparse enough not to block his view.

“Double B, are you in your position?” –he asks humorously, pausing a bit and pretending to check his pulse.

He hears a scoff from the other side of the line.

“You’re literally looking at me right now” –Bambam deadpans without making eye contact, apparently very busy checking his phone while waiting for someone, and the worst part is that he probably _is_ playing something.

“C’mon, it’s protocol” –Jackson tries to joke, and he can see Bambam’s smirk from there–. “It’s your grand debut, we should keep it professional.”

“It’s _our_ grand debut. And I’m watching; you’re just jealous you can’t multitask at this level.”

Jackson chuckles to himself and starts stretching to kill time until their target arrives knowing, despite everything, that Bambam is guarding the accesses he can’t see. He practically begged their boss to let them pair together, so they better ace this mission.

Jackson has been happily working for the HSC for a couple of years now, when he was directly transferred from the Hong Kong’s Criminal Intelligence Bureau as part of a somewhat controversial initiative of trying to unify forces against global corruption and crime. It felt like a promotion, his previous boss entrusting him with something as big as being the CIB token of good will to prove their commitment to the cause, and he made sure to live up to the expectations. He was already a fully trained agent back there so there wasn’t much of a problem adjusting to a new environment since most of his job was exactly the same, he just had to improve his Korean and learn a few new codes and rules.

Then, nearly three months ago and given the good results they have obtained with Jackson, the agency had decided to hire Bambam after extensive deliberation about adding Thailand to the initiative. He had just come second in the qualification process to enter the Thai National Intelligence Agency so he was still technically a trainee, his first probation period ending on this mission if they succeeded. 

Not only that, their boss has been struggling with the idea of reinstating pair teams. The agency usually works with small units that get split randomly for simple missions (Jackson himself has gone solo for the majority of his assignments and has been paired with several agents), but having a certain, constant partner proved to be very effective in the past. Jackson firmly believes in emotional bonds and how they can affect your performance and Bambam thinks the best way to improve his abilities is to learn from an experienced agent, so they have been trying to work together for some time.

It’s going great, so far.

“Our goods are here” –Jackson says, and Bambam turns slightly as if he is just changing the weight between his legs.

There is some lanky guy with a military green backpack and a low baseball cap entering the park by the farthest left entrance, his nonchalant attitude meaning he has done this many times before. He even yawns a little and Jackson can’t help but roll his eyes; like, come on, it’s not even that early.

They watch him carefully without making a move, waiting patiently while he gets closer to an area where the bushes are fuller and takes off his backpack, puts it in the floor and kneels next to it.  They know this guy; they have him marked on the agency’s database for minor smugglings that are is somehow always connected in some way or another to bigger jobs, but he gets out of jail so easily he’s like an old acquaintance to them. He’s also not their main target today, just the one who’s going to deliver the goods (and they know where the cargo comes from, but not where it’s going); so trying to catch him now would jeopardize the entire operation.

He should be easy to find afterwards, at least.

Anyway, this smuggling expert gets something out from his backpack that looks like a worn out fanny pack and a plain plastic bag with a sandwich a bottle of water inside, like it’s no big deal and he just decided to eat his breakfast; and hides the fanny pack between some bushes before zipping his backpack again and hanging it from his shoulders, his lunch in his hand.

“I’m actually impressed” –Bambam says, still in his position, looking at him out of the corner of his eye while he leaves the park by another entrance like he just went across the park to save time–. “How come no one saw that? He was like– right there.”

“It’s all about the attitude, kid.”

The couple with the dog passes right next to the guarded bush then, on their way to leave the place, and for a moment Jackson and Bambam hold their breath in case little Fido sniffs the probably filled with cocaine fanny pack and tries to play with it.

(He doesn’t, fortunately).

Jackson casts a look over the park to make sure the dyed girl is still drawing and the tall boy is still reading, so at least they just have to worry about two civilians now. The next couple of minutes seem to go on forever even though they know that’s the usual, until finally a too innocent looking man arrives through the southern access. He’s wearing a dark suit, kind of brownish, and looks like he’s in his late thirties; but he’s too aware of his surroundings and seems torn between being extremely polite with everyone he sees and not making any contact, not even looking directly at them.

“That’s him” –Bambam declares after giving him a small, shy smile when the man accidentally locked eyes with him.

“Be ready.”

He is coming towards the fanny pack area so Jackson positions himself near that exit, stretching his legs against a bench and purposely not looking in his direction. The man gets closer to the bushes trying too hard not to look suspicious and taking too long to grab his prize, but instead of going straight to get out of the park through Jackson’s access, he turns around and takes the longer way. Jackson curses mentally; he’d rather be the head of the operation than acting as Bambam’s backup on their first mission, but you get what you get.

They have to be subtle.

The man soon realizes that having to undo his steps is a mistake, but it’s too late to change his mind. His knuckles are white from grabbing so hard at the fanny pack and his gaze is quickly focused on anything that moves, and Bambam’s ready to start following him as soon as he passes by.

The girl suddenly stops drawing for a second and gives the man a wary look, probably thinking she should be alert in case he’s a pervert, but he notices it and that seems to alarm him even more. He has a single drop of sweat coming down his temple, trying to figure out if the girl is going to attack him or not, and when she holds his gaze remorselessly he loses it and gets his hand inside his pocket, ready to pick whatever he has there.

It’s probably nothing because Jackson didn’t notice any bulge that could have been a gun and he definitely doesn’t look like the type to be carrying a gun in plain daylight, but Bambam disagrees.

“Hey!”

And that’s it– the man starts running, and he’s surprisingly fit for someone so incompetent at this stuff, so both agents go follow him. Jackson is still too far, the trees in front of him blocking part of his view; and Bambam is so fixated on the man he doesn’t see that the boy who was reading is on his way, so they end up crushing into each other. Bambam, being trained for that kind of physical collision, manages to maintain his balance and stay on his feet despite being shorter and overall smaller; but the other guy is not so lucky: he ends up on the floor, trying (and failing) to stop the fall with his arms.

He grunts and grabs his bleeding elbow, locking his furious gaze with Bambam’s for just a millisecond before he keeps running.

 “Fuck you!”

It’s enough to make Bambam feel guilty as hell.

“I’m really sorry!” –he yells, only to receive an “asshole!” as a response. He doesn’t have time to think much about it, though, his eyes frantically searching for the man.

Finally out of the park, he scans the area. He has memorized these streets, knows every turn and every alley in the block, but he just can’t discern which way has the man gone. He is sure he used that exit, but there’s no way to know if he has crossed the road or just kept walking if he’s nowhere to be seen; Bambam’s breathing becoming erratic as he turns again in case the man magically appears in the middle of the street.  He can’t believe it, he almost had it!

When a hand suddenly touches him on the shoulder he’s ready to throw a punch, his head turning so fast he could have snapped his neck, but when his eyes focus on the person he can see it’s just Jackson.

“Where is he?” –he demands, thrown off at the sudden stop of his chase.

“Did he go back to the park?” –Bambam asks, trying to sound stern even though his voice sounds way softer than it should be.

“Did you lost him?!”

Bambam swallows. There’s a small pause.

“… Maybe.”

“Fuck!”

Jackson shakes his head, sighing heavily, and refrains from kicking the nearest tree.

“Did you at least get the drugs?” –he inquires, hopeful.

“I couldn’t catch him!”

Jackson sighs again, his hand massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Okay. Well, we’re fucked. This was such an easy assignment, how could we–” –he trails off, looking a Bambam, and shuts his mouth. He looks miserable and bitter, like the tears won’t come out even if he wanted to, and part of his anger disappears.

He tilts his head to the side, trying to find the right words. He must be firm on this because it has been a huge fiasco and there’s no denying that, but he can’t forget Bambam’s barely, what? Twenty-one, twenty-two? Jackson’s almost ten years older and it’s not the first time he has lost a target nor will be the last; it can happen to the best of them. He has always been bad at scolding people when they have done their best, he’s too sympathetic. Bambam waits patiently like a champ, his shoulders squared and his eyes perfectly dry, but the reprimand never comes. He will have enough facing their boss, anyway.

“We should leave now, we’ve already made quite the show.”

Jackson pats him friendly on the shoulder while Bambam gives him a small nod. He hates disappointing people, but he hates even more that Jackson feels the need to make him feel better. He can handle it.

The car ride back is quiet and uneventful and mostly too short for Bambam to calm himself but at least he’s doing a pretty good job at maintaining a strong appearance, that much is true. Jackson goes first acting as a human shield for his little duckling against the familiar, noisy vibe when they enter the office hall, where everyone is always doing something and there’s a perpetual tick-tick-tick sound from all the people using their computers. Most of the walls are made of glass, which gives the whole space a false impression of wideness and brightness when in reality everything is packed in piles of documents and they’re invaded by file cabinets that should be digitalized; but Jackson can’t help a smile. This feels like home.

There’s one place in particular that never fails to catch his eye: the memorial wall. Its sober and polished surface is filled with portraits and names of agents that have fallen in battle, great and brave operatives that found their ends fighting for justice and whose stories should be remembered to inspire the new generations. Jackson gives a small prayer every time he passes by it, feeling that he should honor them in some way.

He never met any of them, being relatively new and all, but he knows most of their stories. Some were old, veteran agents that were betrayed by their own bodies, some of them were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some of them were really young, and those are the ones that make Jackson the saddest.

He’s especially fond of one of the young ones, nevertheless. He looks neat and proper in his portrait picture, his plump lips forming a straight line and his eyes sharp and clever; and yet he somehow manages to look… vulnerable, maybe. He’s never quite sure of which word to use. He knows his story by heart: how he was his boss’ partner at the time, how they were hired together for the first time in the history of the agency because both of them got first place at the entrance tests, how they were the top elite agents for some time until he died in an explosion. Jackson can’t really explain what he sees in him, his fascination is not exactly a logical nor rational feeling; but he’s captivated every time he lays his eyes on his photograph.  

The shiny plaque that reads ‘Park Jinyoung’ weights so much more than meets the eye, he sometimes feels overwhelmed. It helps that he never actually knew the guy so he’s more like an entity than a real person to Jackson, something to fill his hopes and dreams with, but which would never take a definite form.

That being said, he probably lost a few targets in his career too, just like they did. Even awarded agents can make mistakes, nobody is _that_ perfect anyway.

Before knocking on the door of his boss’ office Jackson makes a brief stop at the desk right in front of it, where a homey looking young man is calmly drinking his coffee. He is one of the tech guys that prefers doing office work rather than field work (not that Jackson will ever understand that), but he’s mostly their boss’ unofficial assistant, the one who takes cares of his schedules and gently reminds him when it’s been too many hours without having food or something to drink or it’s time to go home to sleep.

 “Hey, Youngaje” –Jackson grins, and yet he knows his face is an open book–. “Is the man in his office?”

“Hi, agents” –Youngjae greets them, smiling brightly and lifting his eyes from one of his multiple screens. He makes a small pause to look at Bambam, like he’s considering something–. “Yeah, he’s in there. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, we’re just going to present our mission report, no big deal” –Jackson says, gesturing with his hand to show he shouldn’t be concerned. He rests his hip on the desk and almost sits on it, trying to look nonchalant–. “Had an interesting morning?”

Youngjae shakes his head.

“Not really. I’ve been sorting some of the latest evidence we’ve been gathering since it’s all over the place and we don’t have anything remotely conclusive, but I guess this helps if we need to search through it later.”

“Ah, always so efficient…” –Jackson pretends to wipe a tear and Youngjae hits him softly in the arm, laughing.

“Well, we’d better get going” –Jackson announces with a little hop, his everlasting energy in need to be shown at every moment–. “Wish us luck!”

Youngjae stares at their backs when they turn, his brow a bit furrowed at Bambam’s unusual quiet self. He guesses the mission didn’t go so well, but he knows better than go asking about it when they haven’t told him themselves so he just hopes they don’t get into much trouble. Jackson grabs Bambam by the arm and gives it a little squeeze, murmuring something to him that makes him square his shoulders and straighten his back, and finally knocks on the door.

“Yeah?”

“Agents Justin Case and Double B, sir, we’ve come to report. Can we come in?”

There’s a clicking sound and the door unlocks. They close it behind them, bowing slightly when they enter the office, and Jaebum gestures them to have a seat.

The light in this room is always dimmer than in the rest of the building, a warmer one; and Jackson loves it because it feels more like a grumpy and smoky detective’s office from the fifties than the super modern facility with super advanced scientific resources that the agency actually is. It does have a computer, obviously, and the windows don’t have blinds so that every shadow looks striped; but there’s something in the general vibe.

Jaebum takes a moment to close the folders spread over his desk, putting them on the side to focus on his employees. You would think being the director means he’s always dressed impeccably, with his dress shirt perfectly ironed and his dark suit smart and elegant, but the truth is his sleeves are wrinkled and rolled up and there may be a coffee stain half hidden near the collar of his suit jacket. There’s also some dispersed cat hairs through all his clothes but they all try not to talk much about it, and it’s not like Jackson can complain because he is still wearing the sweaty tracksuit he has been jogging in.

He looks at them with a calm expression, taking a moment to reorganize his thoughts and recall exactly what their mission was. They both look a bit tousled and while Jaebum has seen that on Jackson many times, it’s weird to see Bambam so unkempt.

“So, what’s our guy’s name?”

There’s an awkward pause until Jackson decides to speak.

“Well, you see, that’s the thing. We, uh… We don’t really know.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t really know’?” –Jaebum asks, baffled–. “Is he a John Doe?”

“… Not exactly. I mean, he could be, we–”

“I lost it.”

It’s Jaebum’s turn to pause awkwardly for the briefest of moments before the true meaning of that sentence sinks in and he lets his anger free.

“What?!”

“I lost it” –Bambam repeats, breathing slowly–. “I– I crashed with a civilian and lost sight of him for one second, and then, when I looked again, he had already disappeared.”

“You hurt a civilian?!” –Jaebum’s voice is so loud they’re sure everyone else in the office can hear him, but that can sometimes be a good company policy because you make sure everybody knows what’s happening and you don’t have to worry about holding meetings to keep your employees updated.

“No! I mean, kinda, but he was okay when I left, just really mad…”

“And you?” –Jaebum inquires at Jackson, furious. There’s a running joke in the agency about how the director sets his jaw when he’s mad but it’s actually terrifying when it’s pointed at you, his sharp features suddenly wild and his whole body tensed–. “What the hell were you doing?!”

“He was too far” –Bambam starts, but Jackson touches his arm to make him stop talking.

“I lost visual. He was surprisingly fast, he outrun both of us.”

Jaebum pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily and trying to calm himself. Fortunately his bursts of rage are usually short and are followed by a more serene kind of anger that sounds really close to paternal disappointment, but at least there’s no more shouting. He breathes a couple of times, feeling his shoulders and chin relax a bit, and looks at them.

“This was a _one_ agent mission. I agree to let you pair together because you promised me that, and I quote, ‘two brains are always better than one’” –he says, remarking it by doing the quotation marks with his hands–. “It looks like not only that statement is blatantly false, but also four legs are also worse than two.”

“We’re sorry.”

“You better be” –Jaebum declares, looking at them in the eye–. “That guy was our only connection outside the usual suspects and we still don’t know how the playing cards are related to this whole case, did you at least got the drugs?”

Jackson and Bambam look at each other, then low their heads.

“I see. So you guys have done nothing but turn the easiest mission into a huge fiasco, that’s really something” –Jaebums grunts, frustrated. He doesn’t like to be so mean to his agents, but they’re so lost with the current situation the last thing they need is leaving loose ends. If they at least knew who’s giving the playing cards and what exactly do they mean…, but, for the moment, they just have a bunch of low-profile criminals that are suddenly well organized, a few mafia clans that used to hate each other but now seem to be working together, and a lot of French playing cards–. “Be glad that everyone else is doing their job, so we’ll hopefully have a new lead soon.”

Jaebum sighs.

“Agent Case, you’re dismissed.”

“But, Boss–”

“Jackson” –Jaebum warns, firm, and Jackson reluctantly gives up. He gives one last friendly pat on Bambam’s shoulder before leaving, hoping it won’t be too bad.

Bambam tries to look composed, holding his boss gaze without seeming defiant. He feels his throat dry, but right now that’s the least of his problems. His brain is trying to focus on everything that isn’t this conversation, so his leg is also itching and there is something bothering him on the back of his neck (it’s probably his shirt tag).

“Agent.”

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a brief pause, or at least Bambam thinks it takes Jaebum too long to speak again.

“You’re still disqualified for the moment, meaning you’re still a trainee” –he says, and Bambam wants to cry. He’s not sure if he wants to cry out of disappointment or relief, though, because it’s actually better than it could be. He could be assigned to office work or, you know, he could be fired–. “We’ll talk about the next date for your passing mission, but for now, you’re out of the Knaves Case.”

Ah, there it is. The actual punishment.

“What?!”

“Agent Jiknife will fill your spot. She’s already been working on some related smuggling assignments, so it should be easy to fill her in.”

“But I can help her!” –Bambam tries, desperate–. “I’ll be her shadow!”

“Are you saying you want to cease your partnership with agent Case? Is this how bad you wanted to work with him?”

Bambam pales.

“No! I mean, I thought…”

“You’re still assigned to him” –Jaebum reassures him, smirking to hide the fact that he’s just about to laugh at him for his shocked face–. “You can be his shadow instead and, until you get to prove yourself, you’ll be his sidekick: you have to answer before him, and you can only help with low risk operations.”

Bambam blinks. That means he is still technically on the Knaves Case, even if it feels like he will only have second-hand responsibility. He can work with that.

“Thank you, sir” –he says, a huge smile on his face and suppressing the urge to go and hug him. He feels the energy coming back to his body, he’s ready to go back to work like right now to fix this mess of a mission–. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Jaebum grunts, Bambam is not sure if it’s because he’s still angry or he just didn’t expect this much gratitude.

“You’re dismissed.”

Bambam gets up and bows almost at ninety degrees, his forehead not smacking the edge of the table just by divine intervention.

Once he’s out of Jaebum’s office he feels like screaming, like really just shouting at the top of his lungs, but instead he takes his time to breathe a couple of times hoping that nobody is paying any special attention to him. Jackson is already gone, but when he turns he can see Youngjae looking at him from his desk. He has a worried expression (he probably has heard that small scolding before), so Bambam gives him a thumbs-up.

Youngjae visibly relaxes and gestures him to get closer.

“So how did it go? Jackson told me a little about what happened at the park when he got out, but then he said he felt gross and sweaty so he’s changing now.”

“Could’ve been worse, really” –Bambam shrugs–. “I’m supposedly out of the Knaves Case but I’m still assigned as Jackson’s partner, so. I’ll just have to work a bit in the shadows to fix this thing and prove Boss that I’m a good agent.”

Youngjae winces, expecting another crash with the director in the near future.

“Or you could also follow Boss’ instructions. Just sayin’.”

“Yeah, well. That’s boring” –he looks at one of Youngjae’s computers, whose screen is filled with profile photos, and he puts his arm on the desk to get closer–. “Are you trying to find the guy we lost at the park?”

Youngjae nods, resting his back on the back of his leather chair. All they had was a hazy recording from a previous mission that linked that man to the [Sooncheonhyang University Hospital](http://www.schmc.ac.kr/seoul/international/intro/introduction.do?type=hospitalintro), so they checked the company census to have a name list of every man working there: from head doctors to janitors, in hopes one of them turned out to be their guy.

“We have more than eight hundred people, it’s impossible to check every one of them. If we had a name it’d be different, but…” –Youngjae clicks his tongue. He’s a pro at his job, but even geniuses need some kind of lead.

Bambam deflates and almost ends on the floor, groaning audibly. He’s trying not to focus on how easy this would be if he had done his job at the park or how the boy he had crashed with was bleeding when he left even if it looked like a superficial wound, and use his new found energy to turn the tables, but that’s always hard. Youngjae pats him on the head, smiling softly, and lets him stay there while he keeps typing.

A couple of minutes pass, then a couple more. Youngjae doesn’t really mind having him there, he just hopes he doesn’t earn himself another scolding.

“Wait!” –Bambam exclaims suddenly, standing up and making Youngjae jump–. “We don’t need a name!”

“What?”

“I’ve seen him!” –Bambam makes sure he recalls his face, and looks at Youngjae like his luck and strength are back–. “I’m sure I can help you narrow the search and then look for his face. You can access their profiles, right?”

Youngjae doesn’t seem convinced, really, but it’s not like they’re doing something wrong and he’s willing to try just because Bambam looks very excited about his idea.

“Okay, well” –Youngjae clears his throat and vaguely points at the screen–. “We maintained doctors, nurses, administrative staff and everything, but we’ve already got rid of all the female staff; so what do you have for me?”

Bambam cracks his knuckles and prepares to redeem himself.

“He looked like he was in his thirties, maybe forties. Uh, get rid of all the people younger than thirty-five and older than forty-five.”

“Isn’t that too specific?” –Youngjae asks, but he’s already typing–. “But okay, done. We still have like three hundreds, so.”

“Just– Trust me. If this doesn’t work you can mock all you want” –Bambam promises, examining the faces on the screen and trying to remember even the tiniest detail of the guy–. “Can you check their height?”

“Not with the company census, but I can look into their medical records. Wait a sec” –Youngjae says, and it’s his turn to crack his knuckles. Bambam has no idea what he’s doing but a moment after there’s a new database poping on the screen, so that’s all he needs to know–. “There they are” –he says, smugly–, “I’m all ears.”

“Okay, get rid of everyone shorter than… 1.70m, I’d say, and everyone taller than 1.75m” –Bambam tries, and he knows he’s aiming at a very small target, but he trust his eyes. He’s good at this–. “He was kind of short.”

“Don’t let Jackson hear you say that.”

“As if I wouldn’t say it to his face” –Bambam jokes, but he’s actually really tense. If this doesn’t work, he _will_ be in trouble.

“We still have a bit less than one hundred and fifty people” –Youngjae reveals, apologetic.

Bambam lets his forehead hit the desk. It doesn’t make a very strong sound but some people turn their heads to look at them in case something happened, so Youngjae pretends not to notice and focus on the search.

“Ugh, okay” –Bambam inhales deeply, trying to clear his mind–. “Try this: search for people between 60kg and 70kg, he looked fit.”

“He sounds like the most average man, I swear. We still have… sixty.”

Bambam groans audibly.

“I’ll go ten by ten, then, I can do this. Show me.”

Youngjae shrugs like he’s still not convinced because this may lead to nothing, but he stays quiet and lets Bambam be. He shows him the first ten, arranged in two rows to fit the screen; and he shakes his head. He then shows him the next ten, and then the next; and Bambam still doesn’t have a match.

Youngjae’s about to tell him that it’s okay, he tried and it was actually a good idea so it’s not his fault it hasn’t worked, when Bambam screams.

“That’s him!” –he says, pointing at the screen.

Youngjae looks at him, suddenly ruffled.

“… Are you sure?”

“Positive!” –Bambam exclaims, his eyes twinkling–. “What’s his name?”

“Uh, Kim Dongwan” –Youngjae reads–. “He’s a nurse–” –he starts, but by the time he has said that Bambam has already kissed him in the top of his head and started running like a crazy man to leave the office.

“Thank you! I’m gonna fix this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, all this started as joke to give Jackson a spy alter ego name so I never thought it would become the monstruosity it is right now, but I'm forever thankful to Maroa and Picas for being my betas and help me through the whole process. You're the best, and I love you <3
> 
> This is barely a presentation of the characters, tho, I have all the plot planned so if I'm able to finish this story to the end this will be a Long Ride, but I'm really invested in it so I hope you guys like it as much as I do C: I have part of the next chapter already written, I'm a slow writer but I hope it won't take long. Thanks for reading!


	2. File 02

The Sooncheonhyang University Hospital parking area is a few minutes by foot from the main building’s entrance so Bambam has some time to think before going on full detective mood, his steps strong and his colored sunglasses creating hard shadows on his face thanks to the midday sun. He left the office so fast he doesn’t really have a plan, nor does he expect to find Kim Dongwan working there barely two hours after their encounter in the park, but it never hurts to do some research on the target’s surroundings in case he has to come later with a proper strategy.

He looks up to the tall buildings, their white walls reflecting all the sunlight and making him squint even with the sunglasses on, and sighs. It was truly an easy assigment and two agents may have been too many agents, a counter-productive measure in an attempt to prove a point; but what is done, is done.

Bambam is good at owning up his fuck ups (it’s his fault ninety-nine percent of the time anyway), so he’s not afraid of trying again and fixing the situation. Every failure is a good advice for the future if you know how to manage it, and he has had _a lot_ of advice in his life, not that he’s complaining. He’s a good spy partly because he never lets anyone see his own doubts and fears, he has always a good disposition and a smile on his face; and no one should ever dig deep enough to see that part of him that doesn’t believe he can do it. _Keep moving forward_ , his mother would say, and it wasn’t even directed to him but to herself.

If his boss wants to see results, Bambam is going to deliver.

The lady at the front desk greets him with a professional smile, her dark brown hair tied on a low ponytail and her eyes attentive; and Bambam tries to be the most forgettable person he can be (this is the most difficult part of his job).

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I was looking for Kim Dongwan, can you tell me where he is?” –Bambam asks in the most neutral voice he can manage–. “He’s a nurse.”

If Bambam has learnt something in his (still) short career as a secret agent is that the less explanation you give while acting confident, the less suspicious you seem. It’s good to have a story to back your character in case you’re asked about it, of course, but adding too many details from the start gives the feeling that you’re trying too hard.

“Of course, please wait a moment” –she says, and starts typing. Her smile fades and she gives him an apologetic look when she’s done, and Bambam notices she’s wearing a soft orange eyeshadow. It looks good, he should try it someday–. “I’m sorry, his shift doesn’t start until 5:00pm.”

“Ah, I must’ve messed up his shifts” –he laments, tapping his fingers on the desk–. “I guess I’ll come back later, then! Thank you anyway” –he says, and bows a little.

“Have a nice day.”

 

He turns to exit the building, the big automatic door opening itself when he gets close to let him go through it, and once he’s out he rests his shoulder on the wall to watch the people pass by. He puts his sunglasses on again (he had them on the top of his head while he was inside so he wouldn’t look like a douche), and if he smoked this would be the perfect moment to take out a cigarette.

He thought today would be his guy’s free day so it’s actually good news that his shift will start in a few hours; that is, assuming he _will_ turn up to work, but since they didn’t get a hold of him in the park he shouldn’t feel too exposed and it would be weirder for him to skip work. Bambam has plenty of time to question some of the guy’s coworkers before five o’clock if he wants to, maybe even try to sneak into his locker or check the security cameras. He has never been a planner, truth be told; he is more of a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so he’s used to improvising and taking last minute decisions.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because it’s in that moment that his phone starts to vibrate. Jackson’s name is displayed on the screen, so he answers quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Bam? Where are you, how did it go with Boss? I came to the office and you’d already left, didn’t Youngjae tell you I was changing?”

“Yeah, yeah, he did; I just– I was in a bit of a hurry” –he says, trying to stop Jackson’s unceasing blabbering and making sure he realizes he’s okay–. “It went well, actually, better than I expected, I’ll tell you later in person. I’m at the Sooncheonhyang University Hospital now, I may have a lead.”

There’s a short pause on the other side of the line, the information settling on Jackson’s brain.

“You have!? That’s my man! But how, what did I miss?”

Bambam tells him about his little research with Youngjae, stressing that their boss doesn’t know he’s on the hunt and that he’s not supposed to be working on that case anymore (much less if Jackson hasn’t approved of it). Jackson doesn’t seem to mind, though, he’s never had a problem about breaking some rules to achieve a goal; and he assures Bambam that he will say he gave him his permission in case he’s asked about it. That would be Plan B, anyway, because if they succeed and actually get some intel today none of that will be necessary.

Bambam should also thank Youngjae later for keeping their little mission a secret, but he will have time to think about that when they come back to the agency.

“I’m so proud of you, kid, that was so smart!” –Jackson exclaims, and Bambam feels his cheeks getting warm so he quickly changes topics.

“Yeah, well, I can’t be sure he’ll be here, but it’s our best shot at catching him.”

“I’ll be there by 16:00, then; I still have to finish some paperwork” –Jackson says, sounding all business–. “We can meet at the parking and wait for him, it should be easy.”

“It _should’ve been_ easy this morning, and look how that turned out” –Bambam sighs, and shakes his head–. “I can check where the security cameras are while I wait for you.”

“I’ll go ask Youngjae about our guy’s license plate and car model.”

“Look at us working together like an actual team, so in sync, we even finish each other’s…”

There’s a pause.

“You’re supposed to say ‘sentences’” –Bambam says.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you hadn’t finished talking. We’re still an actual team that works well together, I’ll finish your sentences next time, don’t worry” –Jackson reassures him, a little lost.

Bambam just laughs, light hearted.

“See you at four.”

“Yeah, take care.”

He hangs up, surprised to feel his own relief. Bambam has trouble expressing his feelings out loud most of the time, showing his deep gratitude and vulnerability, so he never knows how to properly thank Jackson for keeping up with him and actually going out of his own way to help him. Talking with him always eases Bambam’s heart, and he can just hope he also leaves a good impression on Jackson because his friendship truly means a lot to him.

He sighs.

It would be awesome to feel that kind of feedback from their boss, but he guesses he still has to prove he’s worthy of it. It will happen eventually.

For now, he has work to do. Well, he doesn’t exactly have work to do _right now_ , but still. He could start by checking the security cameras, not that they really need it because the extraction should be clean and they will ultimately hand the guy to the police so it doesn’t matter if they’re shown in the security videos; he mostly needs something to do to kill time until four o’clock. He hates waiting, which is kind of a problem when you are a spy, but he manages. In the end he decides he’s kind of hungry, given that he hasn’t eaten anything since this morning, so the cafeteria is a good choice for now.

There’s a crowd waiting in line when he gets there and it’s a bit of a mess, so Bambam places himself after a tall boy he thinks is the last one. There are so many people he almost trips trying to let a limping old man pass by, but he manages to rests his hand on the back of that tall boy before him, hoping he hasn’t disturbed him much.

The boy then turns to him, probably to ask if something’s wrong, but as soon as he lays his eyes on Bambam his expression changes to one of pure horror.

It’s the guy he crashed with at the park.

He looks like he wants to scream and start running for his life, but Bambam lifts his hands in surrender to calm him before he can even open his mouth.

“I’m so sorry for what happened this morning!”

There’s a small silence then, awkward and heavy, and the boy seems suddenly conflicted, but he’s still alert. Bambam can’t blame him, honestly, he would be suspicious too; but now that he has the opportunity to at least explain himself he is not going to let it slip.

“It was an accident, I promise” –Bambam says with a soothing voice–. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The boy takes his time to speak, probably considering his choices. A moment later his shoulders relax a bit, and his whole frame seems less frightened. For a guy his size he doesn’t have a threatening demeanor at all, and that makes Bambam feel even worse for having hurt him. He’s probably a nice guy.

He squints at Bambam staring.

“Are you following me?”

“What? No, not at all! I just had some business here at the hospital and came to eat something, I didn’t know you would be here, I promise.”

“… Okay.”

Bambam sighs, relieved. The only thing he needs right now is a restraining order.

“How’s your arm? I hope it’s nothing serious” –he asks, hoping that would ease the atmosphere (plus he’s actually concerned).

“Not really” –the boy replies, showing him his elbow–. “I got scared because there was blood, but it turns out the wound’s more superficial than I thought. I got two stitches, though, but I think they put them for my own sake so I wouldn’t feel like I was overreacting” –he laughs shyly.

“That’s a relief, really.”

This is probably the best outcome, the poor guy having just a big scratch, so maybe Bambam’s luck is changing. He looks more at ease now, too, and Bambam wouldn’t go as far as saying he’s enjoying his company but at least he doesn’t look like his life is in danger. The boy shakes his head to get his shaggy, too long fringe out of his eyes, his nose scrunching cutely; and takes his time before speaking again. Bambam thinks the conversation is over, but before he turns back he opens his mouth again.

“So what the hell happened at the park?”

Bambam makes a face.

“It’s, eh, a long story.”

“Were you chasing that man? Did he do something?” –the boy insist, and, well, Bambam supposes he deserves some kind of explanation, but he can’t reveal any information to a civilian he just met.

“… Kinda.”

The boy lowers his voice and looks both ways apprehensively.

“Do you carry a gun?”

Bambam had to laugh at that. As if anyone would admit that to him.

“Listen” –Bambam cuts, smiling–, “how about I pay for your food and we sit and talk a bit? I’d like to know at least the name of the person I’m apologizing to.”

“… Really?” –the boy asks, suspicious, playing with his fingers and the hem of his big, slightly worn out sweater jacket. Bambam is pretty sure he doesn’t exactly swim in wealth, if his scruffy sneakers are a sign of anything, but he understands the embarrassment of being short of money so he makes sure to offer it as a repay for having hurt him.

“Is the least I can do. Coffee and a sandwich? I don’t think there’s anything much fancier here.”

“Yeah, okay. But, um, make the coffee a chocolate milkshake.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow but manages not to laugh in his face. For a guy his size he sure acts like a kid, but that’s kind of endearing, really; nothing like the kind of people Bambam is used to interact with either at the office or on missions, so it feels like a breeze of fresh air.

“Sure, whatever you like.”

They get their food and try to look for an available table, which, with how packed the whole place is, turns out to be impossible. The cafeteria connects with an outdoors area that seems to be clear enough, with a couple of (occupied) benches surrounded by trees; and they decide that’s as good a place as any other, so they end up sitting by the sidewalk. They place their drinks on the pavement so they won’t spill and start unwrapping their sandwiches, the people passing by not paying any attention to them except for a lady with a small dog, picking it up so it won’t try to eat their food.

Bambam bites his sandwich and remembers to swallow before speaking.

“This is not that bad. I hope this makes you stop thinking I’m an asshole.”

The boy laughs, carefree.

“We’re getting there” –he says, and looks like he means it–. “I’m Yugyeom, by the way.”

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Bambam.”

Yugyeom blinks a couple of time as if waiting for the joke, biting his lip.

“… That’s your actual name?”

“I’m Thai.”

That seems to surprise him. He’s still probably laughing internally but decides it would seem racist to do so out loud, so he tries his best to avoid any kind of amusement from his voice. Bambam smirks.

“Oh, that’s nice” –Yugyeom replies, and now he sounds genuinely interested–. “Have you been living here long? You like it?”

“Just three months. And yeah, it’s great. Kinda miss my family and all that, but it’s good.”

Yugyeom smiles softly, like he’s trying to unite the person who pushed him this morning and the person who invites him to lunch and misses his family.

“So why did you move here?”

“Work.”

Yugyeom squints, pursing his lips.

“What work?” –he presses, sipping his chocoshake–. “You said you were chasing a bad guy at the park.”

Bambam rolls his eyes, amused, but knows he’s in a dead end now. He shouldn’t have invited him to lunch, he shouldn’t have even talked to him in the first place, even if it was to apologize; but he _likes_ interacting with people. He’s a social guy; he loves spending time knowing other people, laughing with them, just– talking to them. People are so interesting to him, even the ones who aren’t interesting at all: they all have different lives than his, different backgrounds, different points of view.

And now he has to lie in the face of this big kid, who is actually quite nice, because he shouldn’t be involved with civilians. He can make an easy lie, though, one that’s close to the truth but it’s still harmless.

(Those are the best, actually, since they’re the most difficult ones to refute).

“Well, if you really need to know, I’m a cop.”

That makes Yugyeom pause for a couple of seconds, considering. He looks at him from head to toe and Bambam thinks for a moment that he’s checking if he’s strong enough to have passed the physical tests, but he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he’s just impressed.

“You’re a cop.”

“Yeah.”

“You still haven’t told me if you’re carrying a gun.”

Bambam rolls his eyes again, relaxed.

“I am not” –he confirms, and really, Yugyeom doesn’t need to know he’s lying (again). Besides, every agent is a skilled combat fighter who could kill you without any gun, so it’s not like he _needs_ it–. “I do traffic work mostly, you know, parking tickets and that. It’s not terrible.”

It’s kind of terrifying just how easy it is to lie to him, but Bambam is used to that. That in itself it’s, well, sad; but it comes with the job. Zootopia is a great movie to be inspired by when lying, though, he has to admit that to Jackson.

“So what about you, are you working?” –Bambam asks, trying to avert the attention from him–. “I can’t really tell how old you are, please tell me you’re not a high-schooler.”

“I’m twenty-one!” –Yugyeom exclaims, and, yeah, he has the body of a twenty-something guy, but there is a naïveté about him that makes him look much younger–. “I, you know, take whatever comes my way. I’m kind of an errand guy for some bigwig now; I have a bike, so I do deliveries.”

Bambam takes a closer look at him and decides he was right to think he doesn’t seem to have much money and he may even be a dropout, but he doesn’t say anything. Yugyeom seems embarrassed enough to be talking about it, even if he tries to look nonchalant and even smug about the topic, Bambam has seen that many times.

“That’s great, though” –Bambam says, encouragingly–. “Experience is always good.”

Yugyeom smiles shyly.

He turns out to be a very good conversationalist, Bambam learns. He’s cheerful and, for lack of a better word, cute. They have similar tastes in movies and music, but while Bambam loves spicy food Yugyeom can’t take it very well. They learn some pretty useless things about each other, like their favorite dish or TV series, or how the neighborhood they grew up in was. The kind of things Bambam doesn’t really talk about with anyone, besides maybe Jackson, because they’re not important and therefore not worth wasting his time in when he’s at work.

As a plus, he doesn’t have to lie most of the time, which feels rather refreshing; precisely because that stuff is so irrelevant that he doesn’t have to worry if someone knows he likes cheeseburgers.

He feels himself smiling genuinely, enjoying that small moment of frivolity; which is, actually, not that small: before Bambam can realize how much time has passed he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He curses mentally, like he’s Cinderella and he just realized it’s twelve o’clock, and excuses himself.

He panics a little when he confirms that it’s Jackson.

“Yeah?”

“Bam, where the hell are you? It’s 16:05 already.”

“Shit, sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll be there in five.”

He can almost hear Jackson making a face, but he sounds less pressured and a bit worried when he speaks again.

“Okay. Have you eaten? I’ve got some snacks.”

There it is, big brother Jackson. Bambam hates making him worry.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks anyway” –Bambam says, and makes sure to sound as thankful as he feels.

“Did you check the security cameras?”

Bambam bites his lips.

“It’s okay, we don’t really need that” –Jackson says, and while it’s true, it doesn’t feel any less like Bambam didn’t do his homework–. “Youngjae told me the hospital parking has automatic number-plate recognition, he programmed my phone so that we’ll get a notification when his car gets inside. We just have to wait here.”

“I’m going.”

He hangs up before he can hear any sign of resignation or disappointment in Jackson’s voice, and comes back to Yugyeom to say goodbye. The sudden call feels like a splash of cold water, but it’s time to come back to reality.

“Hey, I have to go” –he laments, taking his plastic glass and giving it one last sip to empty it–. “It was a pleasure to meet you and I’d love to stay more but I have work to do, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m glad I got to change my mind about you. You’re actually pretty cool.”

Bambam smiles warmly.

“Hey, before you go…” –Yugyeom hesitates, getting up to stand next to him–. “Can I have you phone for a sec?”

Bambam looks at him a little bit confused, but ends up giving it to him.

Yugyeom takes the phone and types something before giving it back to Bambam with a hopeful expression, and when Bambam reads the screen he realizes Yugyeom has added his number to the contact list. Well, he didn’t expect that. He raises an eyebrow, puzzled, and Yugyeom’s confidence suddenly wavers.

“You know what, you can delete it, you’re right, this was stupid–”

“No, no! I’ll keep it!” –Bambam exclaims, guarding his phone against his chest so Yugyeom can’t grab it–. “I’ll text you later so you can have mine, I promise.”

Yugyeom’s face lit up and Bambam grins before waving goodbye and rushing away to the parking tower, feeling a bit weird inside about what just happened. Not weird in a bad way, just… weird. Like he somehow did something he shouldn’t have.

But there’s no rule keeping him from befriending civilians, and what’s more important, agents _should_ have a “normal” life outside the agency to help avoid any suspicious eyes in their surroundings, so this is good. Yugyeom is nice and funny and a good distraction from his everyday life as a secret agent, but at the same time is someone distant enough that he shouldn’t end up involved in his shit. It makes sense, right? Three months sounds like a lot, but between moving from Thailand, getting started at the agency and working on assignments that sometimes last weeks, he doesn’t really know anyone besides his coworkers. It makes him sad.

There _is_ a rule about dating a civilian, though (there is a rule about dating in general, as a matter of fact), but he tries to think objectively about it because honestly he can’t be sure if Yugyeom wants anything more than a friendship and Bambam would be more than OK with just that. He’s not looking for a hook-up, not that he wouldn’t mind, he just needs a friend that has nothing to do with his work. And that, that is the really sad part.

He decides that he will think about it later. It all happened so fast he still has the chance to not text Yugyeom back and never see him again, but that thought makes him feel even worse; so he lets it be for the moment. For now, he should focus on the mission.

By the time he gets to the parking lot it’s almost 16:15, but Jackson still welcomes him with a bright smile.

“Hey, kid.”

“I’m sorry, I was–”

“Don’t worry, we have time” –Jackson waves his hand. He’s resting against the wall near the stairs to go to the next floor, where there’s a good overview of the whole parking lot, and when Bambam gets close he shows him his phone–. “We wait here ‘til we get the notification and then we go to him when he tries to park, neutralize him, and use his car to get out. Easy peasy.”

“Sounds feasible” –Bambam says, relaxing.

“He shouldn’t be here for another twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes, so there’s not much to do now besides waiting.”

Jackson winks at him, cheeky, and sits on the stairs leaving enough room for people to pass by and starts checking his phone like he couldn’t care less about the rest of the world, but obviously he has a perfect view of the parking entrance from there. Bambam knows that’s his cue do the same and pretend to be minding his own business, so he rests his back on the wall and tries not to think about Yugyeom anymore.

Which, turns out, is kind of difficult if he’s going to be looking at his phone; so he sighs and puts it in his pocket. He crosses his arms looking at Jackson from the corner of his eye, his right foot is tapping on the pavement rhythmically to some song he’s humming. Bambam smiles softly, he’s not very good at waiting either.

He goes over the plan in his head step by step, trying to think about what things could go wrong in order to avoid them, but it’s a pretty solid and simple plan and the few people in there are so engrossed in their own goings and comings they’re not really a threat. By the time he has finished checking their strategy only seven minutes have passed, so he huffs and lets his head rest on the wall with a soft thud. He sees Jackson smirk at his impatience, his eyes never leaving the phone screen, and Bambam decides it’s time for a little small talk.

(He just hopes it sounds small enough for Jackson not to fuss over it).

“Do you have friends outside the office?”

Jackson looks at him, frowning in a funny way.

“What? Of course I have friends!” –he retorts, and uses his fingers to start counting–. “I have my gym buddies, there’s Mrs. Tam, my neighbor, she makes an amazing kimchi that’s not spicy just for me, the guy from the bakery next to my apartment–”

“No, I mean…” –Bambam cuts him, biting his lip–, “like actual friends.”

Jackson shuts up, his frown deepening.

“Bam, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was just thinking” –he smiles, waving his hand.

Jackson sighs slowly before talking again.

“I do have friends outside the office” –he says, a much more serious voice now–. “They’re all back in Hong Kong, though, so I’m not sure they count” –he makes a small pause, like he’s looking for the right words to come–. “Listen, it’s tough going alone to live in another country, I’ve been there; and it’s tougher with a job like this. It’s not easy to develop deep connections with civilians, mostly for their own safety, but that doesn’t mean you _can’t_ have them. It’ll get easier, trust me.”

Bambam smiles softly. It will probably get harder, though, but he appreciates the input. He still feels unsure about the whole Yugyeom thing, or, rather, he feels unsure about how it will be viewed by his colleagues, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Besides, hey, you have me!” –Jackson exclaims suddenly–. “I’m the best friend you could’ve asked for.”

Bambam snorts, but accepts Jackson’s half hug (they’re still in the middle of an assignment, after all, they can’t afford to get overly emotional).

Luckily for them, their guy doesn’t take long to appear and everything goes smoothly as planned, for once. They have to wait a bit more, the small talk helping them kill time; until one of the cars passing through the gate generates a notification on Jackson’s phone screen. He gets up and gestures towards Bambam, who nods silently.

They don’t move right away, watching the car carefully, until it’s clear it’s not going to park yet and is instead going to the second floor. They run upstairs, find it again wandering around the parking lot, and follow when the car goes up once again to the third floor: that’s where their guy seems to find a suitable spot to park. He places the car ready to go back so the rear of the car will be against the wall, and Jackson thanks him mentally for making their extraction easier for them. He and Bambam start walking towards it, careful not to appear in his general view, and they split before getting too close so they can ambush him.

Jackson is going for the driver’s seat, his hands busy taking a syringe out of its small, aseptic box hidden in his jacket. The target doesn’t even notice them until he opens the door and sees Jackson gripping it tight so it stays open.

“Long time no see” –he says, and quickly covers his mouth with his hand before poking the needle in the side of his neck. He tries to resist for a couple of seconds, once he’s over the initial surprise; but Jackson keeps his hand in his mouth until the fentanyl starts kicking in, making him wobbly and sleepy just before he finally falls unconscious.

Once the guy is knocked out, Bambam gets inside and helps Jackson lay him on the backseat. This is when the danger of being seen is higher, when Bambam feels the most vulnerable, and his heart almost skips a beat when he hears a car passing nearby; but they’re not interrupted. Jackson sits in the driver’s seat after they’re done and Bambam handcuffs the man (both wrists and ankles), and after checking his pockets he gets on the front seat so Jackson can start the engine and get the hell out of there.

“Something interesting?”

“Not really” –Bambam says, shaking his head–, “just some pocket money and his ID card. I’m gonna check the glove compartment.”

Jackson exits the parking lot and drives towards the agency, having Bambam messing with all the junk in the glove compartment as background noise: there are hospital documents, a map, a bunch of receipts, some CDs, a few sweets wrappers and, finally, a playing card.

“Oh, fuck, another?”

Jackson makes an interrogative sound trying to keep his eyes on the road, and tears them apart from it when they stop at a red light to look at what Bambam is holding.

A Knave of Spades.

 

***

 

Jaebum’s exhausted and it’s not even the evening yet.

He’s used to the stress, after all; it’s something that comes inherently with being the boss so it’s not like he’s complaining, he just needs to stretch his legs a bit and maybe grab some coffee. When you have so many things in your head it’s good to have a small moment to blank your mind, help it ease and regain strength for what may come next. It’s hard to simply to stop thinking so much, but he always tries.

When he exits his office he finds Youngjae at his desk, as expected, lifting his head from his screens at the sound of the door. He looks at Jaebum and shifts in his seat, sympathetic.

 “Are you leaving?”

“No, no” –Jaebum shakes his head–, “I just needed a break.”

Youngjae nods and moves a little so Jaebum can rest his hip on the table, sighing.

“Is this because of Jackson and Bambam’s failed mission this morning?”

Jaebum looks at him, slightly embarrassed.

“Ah, so you heard” –Youngjae makes a face, like meaning to say it would have been difficult not to, and Jaebum chuckles. That happens more often that he would like to admit and he knows his employees use it to laugh at him, but it’s a harmless joke in the end–. “It’s not that. Well, partly. I don’t know. We just don’t seem to make any progress in the Knaves Case, it’s frustrating.”

“But I thought Suzy and Jimin were successful on their assignments?”

“They were” –Jaebum confirms, his voice tired–, “but we just confirmed things we already knew. Suzy did hijack a small gun shipment, though, so I guess that counts as good news” –Jaebum pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily.

Youngjae rests his back on his leather chair, frowning. It’s been weeks without any important new lead, but even if they are worried that doesn’t really explain Jaebum being so down. Youngjae tilts his head, wondering, inspecting carefully every detail of his boss’ expression. They’ve been working together for almost three years now, seeing each other every day, and while Youngjae knows there’s a lot of other people at the agency that know Jaebum for longer than he does he’s sure he’s the one who knows him better.

“That’s not it” –he says, and Jaebum purses his lips–. “There’s something else bothering you.”

Jaebum averts his eyes, but the corner of his mouth rises softly creating a small smirk. He sighs deeply and shakes his head, and surrenders.

“There’s no keeping things from you, huh?”

Youngje shrugs innocently, waiting for him to finally open up. He suspects most of the time Jaebum _wants_ to tell him what is wrong, he just needs to feel like he’s being forced to do it.

“I’m not sure about reinstating the same partner teams, that’s all. There, are you happy now?”

“Why not?” –Youngjae asks, ignoring his last remark–. “It worked out in the past, right? I’ve heard the stories, and everyone else is on board with it. Why have doubts now?”

“I’ve had doubts from the beginning, you know that.”

“But you still submitted the project. I know you believe in it, and, honestly, one failed mission is not going to change that.”

Jaebum shakes his head, having trouble putting his thoughts into words. He has always hated feeling helpless, but since he became the head of the agency it’s like an unspoken rule that he must be in control of everything at all times. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his employees, but if they can’t look up to him, what’s the use of being their boss?

He appreciates that Youngjae never rushes him to talk, remaining comfortably silent besides him. Jaebum does tries to speak a couple of times, his mouth opening but never actually making any sound, and his eyes wandering towards the memorial wall unconsciously; but in the end his lips remain closed forming a straight line. Youngjae follows his gaze towards one certain photograph at the wall, biting his lip. That’s the only thing he has never gotten Jaebum to open up about.

“I guess history doesn’t necessarily have to repeat itself.”

Youngjae makes a face, of course it’s about him. The memory of Jinyoung is the only thing Jaebum is afraid of, the only thing that still eats him on the inside.

It’s not like he wants to know the story, because everyone in the agency knows it very well. Hell, most of his coworkers were there when it happened, it’s not some kind of secret; but he has never heard a word of it from Jaebum’s lips. It’s like a blank space in his past, a dark cloud he doesn’t dare to look into, but Youngjae knows it’s because he hasn’t moved on yet.

It must be tough to lose your teammate, of course, and he can’t even began to understand what that must have been; but he’s sure it would be good for Jaebum to share his thoughts on the matter. Not necessarily with him, but, well. With someone.

“How was he?” –Youngjae asks, suddenly, and Jaebum looks lost for a moment.

He looks at the memorial again, now fully aware of where his eyes are going, and his features soften. He swallows, his name burning in his throat.

“Jinyoung was–” –he starts, but cuts off when doesn’t know how to continue.

Millions of memories come to his mind at the same time like a raging storm, thousands of little moments they shared together flashing through his mind, and they’re going so fast he has trouble managing all that weight.

He’s suddenly back to when they were eighteen, matching round faces and hopeful smiles. It was just after they both passed the agency’s entrance test with the highest scores, the first and only time something like that had happened in the history if the HSC. They had known each other before at the academy, sure, but they were barely acquaintances. There was a bit of a commotion for such an unorthodox ceremony, but their former boss had said he couldn’t choose so they both were in, just like that.

He had called it fate, and it may have been. Who cares. Fate doesn’t always mean something good, Jaebum knows that now. Fate just means unavoidable.

Jinyoung had always had a certain aura of purity, of something that must be protected; and yet they fought a lot in the beginning. He was playful and witty while Jaebum was watchful and blunt, but mostly they were simply young and stupid; and even then it felt like they were somehow connected by a red string. It was scary for Jaebum, to feel something so unknown so strongly.

They were the best. The years refined them, his personalities quietly learning to adapt to the other until they weren’t two people anymore but just one agent. They were so in sync people said it was freaky, but they just laughed it off. They were happy.

Jaebum remembers stolen glances and the deafening beating of his own heart, the overwhelming sensation of knowing there would always be a hand he could reach to, remembers hidden touches and the most beautiful smile he has ever seen directed solely to him. Remembers thinking about the future, thinking in plural, thinking he knew everything and that nothing could ever change.

Remembers the butterflies, the inside jokes, the thrill of no one knowing.

Remembers the days, and the nights.

But, mostly, he remembers the fire.

And fire burns everything, fire doesn’t let anything behind.

“Good” –Jaebum says, sharply–. “He was a good agent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, things are slowly developing, but this is almost ready for the Actual Main Storyline, I just needed all this context before so the rest will make sense. We have a little bit of yugbam (did any of you guess that "tall boy from the park" would be someone important?) and a little bit of past!JJP with its angst and everything, and soon it will be Jackson's turn, you'll see. Just wait a bit longer!
> 
> I hope it doesn't take me long to write the next chapter, but as I said, I'm a slow writer :C I'll try my best!
> 
> (And, again, thank you to Maroa & Picas, my wonderful betas, for helping me and always being there for this <3)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you liked this chapter!


	3. File 03

Jackson tries not to bite his fingernails.

His right leg is bouncing nervously, causing soft thumps when his foot taps the ground, and he sighs impatiently. In the last couple of days they have made more progress on the Knaves Case than in the last three or four of months, but they still need one last bit of luck to actually have a traceable lead to work on.

Bambam is (apparently) busy checking his phone while they wait; sitting next to him, a small group of agents gathered at the main meeting room hoping for good news, and even their boss seems anxious, his arms crossed over his chest as if defying the evidence to do him dirty and come out empty once again. There’s a heavy atmosphere in the room, and every little sound makes them turn their heads towards the door to see if their experts have finally finished their verifications.

It all started to make sense when he and Bambam intercepted Kim Dongwan at the hospital and found the latest Knave of Spades, not that it looked any different from the others at the moment, but it had really started to feel weird over eight, maybe nine months ago.

Jackson was familiar enough with how the underworld works in South Korea by then to notice something was off even if his colleagues hadn’t said anything, but it was a feeling so vague none of them could tell where the problem laid: there were less fights between clans, the deaths somehow felt less violent, more refined. Gangs that used to hate each other were now sharing resources and manpower and every time an angry voice, usually pertaining to a low-rank thug, was raised to claim this was bullshit, its owner had usually been found dead shortly after.

Those deaths were also when they first discovered the playing cards. The first one was a Joker card, a very general, kind of old looking design; but since it wasn’t openly placed for everyone to see, the police dismissed the possibility of it being some type of signature and considered it an isolated event, so the investigation was promptly closed. The agency disagreed, though, so they kept the card.

The agency was, of course, right.

In the span of three weeks they found another twelve cards: eight Jokers and four Knaves of Spades. By that time it was easy to read the pattern: Joker cards were only found on dead bodies, always hidden in a pocket or a wallet, while the Knaves were always carried by the targets they captured alive. None of them gave any explanation about it, though, and by the look of their answers, maybe they simply didn’t know. The few of them who actually talked simply kept repeating it had been handed to them as a gift from someone powerful after a well done job, on the condition that they keep it on themselves at all times.

However, the logical explanation was obvious to the agency. There was someone, or a small group of someones, trying to control the entirety of Seoul’s criminal sphere, killing whoever dared to confront them while marking their loyal supporters with the cards.

There were more cases every week, always in the middle of other investigations. The cards kept appearing when they least expected it, until they had come to the conclusion that any criminal attempt in Seoul was somehow connected with them. How someone could have gathered so much power in such a short time was still a mystery to them, but whatever the modus operandi was, the results were definitely favorable.

All the crooks they had interrogated referred to this unknown individual as J, probably because that letter was always present on his little gifts; but very few had actually seen him and, to be honest, knowing he was a “young, black haired guy with an average height and average weight with no tattoos or piercings” didn’t solve anything. When will they have to look for a 6,8 feet guy with long, lime green hair? _That_ would be easy to track.

Long story short, they only had the playing cards as evidence, which turned out to be rather useless. No relevant fingerprints or traces of DNA were found on any of them, and the design was so common they could have been bought anywhere.

As of today, they had over fifty Jokers and eighty-something Knaves of Spades, and they knew as much as when they had found the first one.

That is, until Jackson got to question Kim Dongwan.

The interrogation room was dimly lit, these kind of places always austere and gray to make you feel unwelcome; and Jackson, while not being very tall, knows perfectly well how to make the most out of his frame. He was playing good cop first since the man seemed nervous enough, Jackson was pretty sure he was not used to be between bars and they could make a deal easily. He had even prepared a glass of water for him as a sign of peace, placed next to a transparent evidence bag that contained the Knave of Spades.

“So, Mr. Kim, I get you have relatively easy access to drugs and lab materials at the hospital” –he said, his voice carefully controlled in a firm, yet friendly manner–. “There’s no point in denying it now, we’ve already checked your house and your locker at work. All your cargo has been confiscated.”

Dongwan lowered his gaze. He was starting to sweat, but he wasn’t sure if it was the stress or just the heat.

Jackson sighed.

“Look, it’s better if you cooperate. If you tell us who you were dealing with your punishment will be reduced, that’s all. I’m trying to help you since you seem like a reasonable man.”

“I won’t say anything!” –he exclaimed suddenly, having trouble to maintain eye contact. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to appear submissive or confrontational, but the truth was he looked mostly scared–. “You’ll… You’ll have to torture me!”

Jackson raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh.

“Frankly, Mr. Kim, you didn’t even have _that many_ drugs in your apartment. I wouldn’t even call you a _dealer_ , and it looks more like you were simply in contact with the wrong people and tried to make some extra money the wrong way” – Jackson explained, very calmly–. “We’re not going to torture you, I can assure you that much. You’re not that important.”

“If I’m not that important” –he started, looking unexpectedly smug–, “then why am I here? You’re not the police. You’re like–, I don’t know, like government agents. This is important.”

“This _may_ lead to something important” –Jackson said, starting to lose his patience–. “We’re looking for the trunk of the tree, and you’re one of the thinnest branches, if you’re even that. Don’t get cocky.”

Kim Dongwan shifted in his seat. His handcuffed hands played nervously with themselves, but that slight change in Jackson’s voice made him braver. It’s sometimes a side effect to the good cop, especially between people who haven’t been interrogated before; they tend to think they somehow got the upper hand and their interrogators are getting intimidated.

“If I’m barely a branch and you’re talking to me, it means you don’t have anything else” –he said, licking his chapped lips–. “You need me right now, and I’m not gonna tell you anything, so you have nothing. I’m someone he can trust.”

“Are you talking about this J person?”

“He’s a powerful fella” –Dongwan commented–. “He can make you rich or he can make you dead, and I will take advantage of all the opportunities he gives me. He’s got contacts.”

Jackson looked at him in silence for a moment.

“I’m not sure you understand you’ll be in prison when we’re done with you.”

“I won’t be there for long. You said it yourself, the amount of drugs I had wasn’t that much. I will be able to make contacts in jail so I’ll be a more valuable partner when I’m out, he’ll want to work with me again.”

“You have everything sorted out, huh? –Jackson teased playfully, completely uninterested in his (otherwise not very smart) plans for the future–. “So you’re not going to tell me who gave you this card?” –he asked then, picking up the evidence bag and taking the Knave of Spades out. He held it between his index and middle finger for a moment before throwing it to the table right in front of him.

He didn’t know if it was J himself who gave the cards away, but he had to try.

“Really? This is pointless” –Dongwan grumbled, sliding the card back to Jackson with his index finger (it only reached the center of the table).

Jackson scowled.

“I told you, I’m not gonna say anything” –Dongwan repeated, crossing his arms–. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Jackson was silent for a couple of seconds, looking down at him. Then he suddenly slammed his fist on the table, fast, hard and noisy; and got up just enough to get face to face with him, his jaw squared and his eyes pure fire. He didn’t even have to touch him; he could feel him trying to hide the hitch in his breath just from standing there.

The hand he was resting all his weight on felt wet all of a sudden, and Jackson looked down at the table: that useless man had accidentally hit the glass when he got scared. Jackson smirked.

“I figured” –Jackson said, getting back to his seat.

Then he saw it.

The water had reached the Knave of Spades, vulnerable and too exposed being out of its evidence bag, and it was soaking wet now. Jackson closed his eyes, grunting.

“Fucking shit.”

Not Jackson’s brightest moment, let’s be honest, and yet that stupid mistake was exactly what they needed.

He was already out of the interrogation room and trying to carefully hold the card by its dry corner when the magic happened. The wetter part, with an almost unrecognizable spade and an equally faded letter J, was starting to fall apart. He really hoped they wouldn’t miss one card, knowing it had already been checked and photographed and that all of them were literally the same, because this one was clearly damaged.

So damaged it almost looked like it had… fibers. Small filaments, so tiny he felt them with his fingers rather than actually seeing them, seemed to form an inner skeleton that maintained a small square part of the card together and safe from the water, but, as far as Jackson knew, that wasn’t how playing cards worked.

He stopped short, having an idea.

Those filaments kind of shone if the light fell upon them at the right angle and that made them look metallic, if something so small can look like anything; so it was possible that they assembled some type of integrated circuit hidden inside the card. He couldn’t believe he had discovered something so apparently big after so many dry months, but he tried to stay calm. This could be nothing.

He managed to look unexcited in order to avoid anyone important in his way to the agency’s lab, where a young man was crouched over his microscope examining some bullets. He looked up when he heard the door, and Jackson smiled at him.

“Wonpil, my man! Do you have a moment?”

“Hey, Jackson” –he greeted–. “Sure, what do you need?”

Jackson hesitated and lowered his voice, getting closer to him.

“I may have a clue about the cards, but I need you to keep quiet for the moment in case it turns out to be nothing.”

Wonpil tilted his head, frowning.

“What have you done?”

“Well…”

Jackson peeked at the rest of the lab one more time and showed him the wet card. Wonpil didn’t seem to mind it looked broken, he just stared; thinking.

“Do you see it? That little square that doesn’t seem to be made of paper? It reminded me of a microchip.”

Wonpil took the card and carefully inspected it, his frown deepening. He looked at it from every possible angle, bending it a little and putting it against the ceiling light, resting his back on the chair.

“It certainly looks like that way, but…” –he murmured, carefully removing the bullets he had been inspecting and placing the card under the microscope–, “if this is true, then what have we been doing all this time? We’re such fools!”

“So is it really something? What does it mean?”

“It looks like some kind of smart card, but I can’t really tell you much more, this is not my area of expertise” –Wonpil said, sadly, his eyes looking up as if looking for someone on the upper floor, where most of the tech guys worked–. “I’ll have to ask Jae, if you don’t mind more people knowing about this.”

Jackson nodded.

“Yeah, you do that. I won’t say anything to Boss yet, though, but I have a good feeling about this” –he checked the time, clicking his tongue–. “I left Bam with that loser at the interrogation room so I should get back; call me when you guys find anything.”

Wonpil smiled at the use of ‘when’ instead of ‘if’, and nodded.

“Sure, I’ll keep you updated.”

Jackson finger gunned him, unable to hide his smile at this point, and quickly got back to see if Bambam had already dismissed and handed Kim Dongwan to the police. The questioning had been shorter (and messier) than anticipated but, if it all resulted in good news, that could have been the best interrogation of his career; so he wasn’t going to complain.

He passed the memorial wall on his way back, glanced at Park Jinyoung’s photo and, for just a moment, wondered if he would be proud of him. That was probably a stupid thing to think, though, especially for a fully grown-up man that had never actually met the guy; but he couldn’t help it. Jackson rolled his eyes at his own fanboyism, chuckling lightly. You can’t really choose your heroes, right? There’s simply something that somehow clicks with you that makes you look up to them, to _trust_ their judgment. It happens to the best families.

Bambam was waiting for him outside the interrogation room, reading some important looking papers.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, he didn’t say anything else” –Bambam pointed at the papers, which turned out to be a transfer report–. “They’ve already taken him to police custody, not that I’m gonna miss him.”

“He was kinda annoying, right?”

Bambam’s phone buzzed and he looked like he was going to pick it up, but then glanced at Jackson from the corner of his eye and stopped like nothing happened. He put the papers in its folder instead, very professionally, and started walking to the office floor to put it on Jackson’s desk so he’d have to do all the paperwork later; that skinny bastard.

“I think he watched too much television” –Bambam remarked, a certain snicker on his voice–. “He wanted to look all dangerous and that, but either you have it or you don’t. He doesn’t.”

The phone buzzed again, and again it was ignored.

“Harsh words” –Jackson said, solemnly.

“But are they really?”

Jackson laughed.

“Do I have it?” –he asked, half serious.

“Sometimes.”

Jackson looked at him, insulted; and actually stopped walking to confront him (that didn’t always work the way he wanted since Bambam was taller than him, but Jackson hoped he looked threatening even from above).

“What? I’m the toughest guy here.”

“Because you like to wear tank tops instead of formal clothing?”

“I wear formal clothing.”

 “Debatable.”

The phone buzzed twice this time, and Jackson smirked.

“Aren’t you gonna check who it is?”

Bambam averted his eyes. Jackson raised his eyebrows, his curiosity burning up inside him, and suppressed the need to simply stretch out his arm and grab it from his pocket.

It could be nothing worthy of gossip, of course, but Bambam _always_ told him (more like complained to him, actually) when one of his siblings called to know how he was doing and to tell him how things were back in Thailand, or when his mom asked him if he had finally seen any celebrity on the streets of Seoul. It was a good thing that agency’s phones had a super-tight security system because Bambam was glued to his, but Jackson had to admit that this apparently useless obsession had been an advantage some times. Times change, he supposes.

The thing is, Bambam never refuses the chance to talk with his family even if it’s just so he can complain about it afterwards and he himself told Jackson that he didn’t have any friends outside the office, so what is he trying to hide?

 “I’m at work” –Bambam reasoned, and that was it. Now he was _definitely_ lying.

“That has literally never stopped you from checking your phone before.”

“Well, it does now” –Bambam said, a little too defensive, and kept walking.

Jackson was shamelessly enjoying this. He loved a juicy mystery just as much as the next person, but it was also a good opportunity to prove his amazing deduction skills at work. As they say, you should always keep your mind active, especially if you can tease a friend in the process. It makes everything way more fun.

He followed him, not cowed in the slightest.

“It could be important.”

“It’s not.”

Jackson bit his lip to keep himself from smiling wider.

“What’s their name?”

Bambam grunted in resignation. He had decided to keep Yugyeom a secret for the moment, not that they were doing anything wrong (they were not doing _anything_ , period), but it still felt like he was breaking some rule.

He knew he was being childish and that it would have been way easier and less suspicious to just tell Jackson he had followed his advice and had started hanging out with a neighbor or whatever, but then Jackson would have wanted to know more about him and maybe even hang out with them, and Bambam wanted that little bit of life outside work for himself. It was selfish, yes, but he had the right to do it; to have some privacy. He knew that wasn’t a bad decision.

He kept repeating himself he didn’t tell Jackson because he wouldn’t understand it, he would sulk and be hurt and think Bambam didn’t want him in his life; but deep down Bambam knew that would last a couple of days and then Jackson would be supportive of him, as he always is. He will tease him and fake cry, but it will all be a joke.

No, he knew he could always count on Jackson.

But he also knew that the more people knew about Yugyeom, the harder it will be if things went wrong. If no one had any idea he existed, no one would feel sad for him if he was not able to maintain a simple friendship; and he wasn’t even sure if they had _that_ yet.

 “It’s my mom” –Bambam finally said.

Jackson snorted.

“It’s not your mom. Come on, who is it?” –he whined, poking him in the arm.

“My mom.”

Before Jackson could keep pressing on the matter his own phone buzzed, and he sighed. It didn’t matter, he was going to discover who that mysterious person Bambam was trying to hide was whether he’d want it or not.

“Saved by the bell” –he said before picking it up–. “Wonpil?”

“Hey, we ha–”

“Get your ass here asap” –Jae’s voice suddenly came from the other side of the line–. “And bring Boss.”

Ten minutes later Jackson, Bambam and Jaebeom were behind Jae’s monitor, which was theatrically prepared with a desktop wallpaper that looked like red velvet curtains ready to be opened to reveal a secret. The broken card was next to the keyboard, one corner missing and covered in wet stains, but Jaebeom had enough self control to wait for a quick and reasonable explanation: Jackson had only claimed that they had discovered something important about the playing cards, so he hoped it would make up for the damage.

He had his arms crossed as he always did when he wasn’t sure if the news were going to be good or not, and his lips formed a straight line.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jae cracked his knuckles before speaking, so Wonpil took that opportunity to start.

“Jackson brought me that card saying he had found something weird in it, so I inspected it and found what I thought looked like an micro integrated circuit.”

“They weren’t sure what it was, so they came to me and, of course, I’ve solved the mystery” –Jae announced, and used that small pause effect to click on the keyboard, making the red velvet curtain in the wallpaper open. It revealed a simple, vectorial stock image of a card with the text “thanks for coming!”.

There was a bit of a silence after that, but Jae wasn’t anything if not resilient.

“It’s an invitation card” –he clarified–. “Well, more like a ticket, actually. You go to a place, they verify your card, then they let you in. Simple.”

Three pairs of confused eyes were focused on the screen trying to figure out what that meant, you could almost hear the engines working. The silence remained for a few more seconds, until Jackson decided to break it.

“What? –he said in a very high pitched voice–. “A ticket to _what_ , exactly?”

“We don’t really know yet” –Wonpil admitted.

“His headquarters, maybe?” –Bambam asked, not very convinced himself.

Jaebeom shook his head.

“He wouldn’t let keys of their headquarters going around like that, he’s proven to be too smart for that. It has to be something else.”

“This one hasn’t been used yet so it doesn’t hold much information” –Wonpil said, apologetically–. “It is an important finding, though, so we wanted to ask for permission to analyze the rest of the cards.”

“We’d have to, well, dismantle them to take the circuit out; so I’m not sure if they could be count as evidence anymore” –Jae explained.

“Don’t worry about that” –Jaebeom said quickly, using his authority voice. He was still frowning at the screen, thinking about the implications. He held the broken card between his fingers–. “Examine every one of them. This one’s very recent so it’s not that strange it hasn’t been used yet, but some of the others must be more helpful. Wonpil, please stay and help. This has priority over whatever you were doing before” –he said, then turned to Jae–. “I’ll bring Youngjae here to help you. Keep me updated.”

That had been over six hours ago, which takes us to the present, where a group of the agents that had been working on the case are gathered at the conference room ready to listen to Jae and Youngjae’s news, and Jackson is still trying not to bite his nails. Wonpil had assembled them via text and Jaebeom had told them what they knew so far so all they have to do now is wait, a thin heaviness in the air waiting to be cleared.

There is a bit of chitchat, soft voices trying to ease the general vibe and some impatient tapping on the table; the usual.

And, finally, the door opens.

Jae’s carrying a laptop with a bunch of wires messily standing on top of it while Youngjae hurries to unroll the projector screen attached to the wall. Wonpil closes the door behind them and tries to ignore all those inquiring eyes focused on them while he lets Jae and Youngjae plug everything in so they can give a proper presentation (this breaks the dramatic effect a little, but what can you do).

Barely a few seconds later the logo of the HSC appears on the screen, and Jae clears his throat.

 “Ladies and gentleman” –he announces, gesturing widely–, “we have huge news. The juicy part is gonna take a while, though, ‘cause we need to fill you all in first. Listen carefully.”

There’s a few nods, so Wonpil turns off the lights and Youngjae begins.

“We scanned every card we had at the archive (and they were _a lot_ , so that took a while), and we found that only the knaves have circuits” –he says, as a close up of those circuits appears on screen behind him–. “The joker ones are actual playing cards, that’s why we never found anything even if they were soaking with blood, so those have remained undamaged.”

“That makes sense since those were only placed on dead people, though” –Suzy comments, more for herself, and Jae nods.

“That’s what we thought, too. The next step was removing and checking all the circuits, which also took more time than I’d have liked, but at least we knew what we were looking for” –Youngjae adds. He presses a key and a complex bubble diagram appears on the screen–. “There were two other cards that haven’t been used yet, but all the rest had a date, an hour and some coordinates in them. Except for the hours, which were all different, some dates and coordinates were the same; and, supposing they’re from the same meeting, we tried to organize them by event.”

There are a few nods from the agents to show they’re following, so Jae takes a board pointer and stands in front of the screen.

“We guessed they were some sort of criminal gathering for, I dunno, making contacts or whatever; so we were kinda shocked when we checked the coordinates and date combo that had the most matches” –he says, making a small pause for effect–. “They belong to the 32-14 of Seoulsup 2-gil, in Seongdong-gu, at June 25.”

Jae waits, smug, until the dead silence is broken by Bambam’s gasp. His smile grows bigger and he throws a small fist of victory before speaking.

“I _knew_ you would get it.”

Everyone is looking at Bambam now, trying to understand what does that mean. He stays awkwardly in his seat, his back straight to give the (false) impression of serenity. Jackson is frowning so deep he looks like he’s trying to divide 232 by thirteen, but at least that makes Bambam giggle internally.

“Well?” –Jaebeom asks, impatiently.

“I must’ve heard it wrong.”

“I can assure you, you didn’t” –Jae says, and Bambam makes a face.

“Rain’s Annual Gala, seriously? –he demands, defensively, and crosses his arms. His mom would be outraged about this–. “He can’t be a criminal, I refuse.”

“Rain?” –Jackson asks, confused–. “As in Rain, the person? The singer?”

“Rain’s a bad guy?” –Dahyun says, dismayed.

“Are you telling me there are criminals who had invitations to Rain’s Annual Gala and I didn’t?” –Jimin says, just before Jaebeom slams the table to make them shut up.

The room gets silent again.

“What is this Annual Gala about?” –he asks then, very calmly.

“It started simply as Rain’s birthday party like twenty or twenty-five years ago, but it soon became the celebrity event of the year” –Bambam explains–. “It really is just a big ass fancy party, honestly. Lots of famous guests, you know, singers and actors and stuff, they’re basically the face of the event; but there are also lots of non famous people there. I guess you just have to be rich.”

A resigned groan can be heard, probably from Jimin, and Bambam shrugs.

“Do we know who had those specific cards?” –Jackson inquires then, frowning again. He’d known Rain for a long time, even when he was still in Hong Kong, so he remains skeptical–. “I’m not so sure it’s that easy to sneak in such a party.”

“We do, actually! –Wonpil exclaims, happy to be of use–. “They were only high-rank mafia guys, so I’m sure they know how to blend in.”

“Is this the juicy bit?” –Jaebeom grunts abruptly–. “Not that I’m not impressed, but I expected more than gossip.”

“That’s not it, don’t worry” –Jae says–. “We’re not clickbait, we just don’t want to spoil the surprise” –he sits next to the laptop and gesture towards Youngjae to keep going. He nods–.  “Let’s continue.”

“But it’s Rain a bad guy then?” –Dahyun whispers to herself, and Jimin pats her back.

Youngjae clears his throat to gather their attention again.

“So, we don’t know exactly how Rain is connected to our J guy, but when we checked the rest of the coordinates we found out every date had a similar meeting.”

A list of names appears linked to each bubble on the diagram, and he lets them a moment to start reading.

“Some were private parties, anniversary celebrations, some art exhibitions and one of them was a poker tournament. We figured this guy can’t have _that many_ (and _that famous_ ) acquaintances, so we compared all these parties with each other and turns out every one of them hired the same security team” –the screen turns black and a single, white J pops up right in the middle of it. It’s a simple design, but it does look like a logo–. “It’s not a registered company or anything we could track, but it’s obviously what ties everything together.”

The black fades, revealing the bubble diagram again. This time, every line ends up connecting with that big letter J.

“There’s a huge possibility that J himself personally attended those meetings, and even if he didn’t, well, it should be easy to identify some of his workers.”

“And _this_ is the juicy bit” –Jae takes a small pause again, drumming on the table with his fingertips, and Jaebeom rolls his eyes. Jae finally presses a key and the screen turns black one more time, with some white numbers on its lower right corner–. “We have security footage from one of the art galleries parties!”

Jackson rested his back on the back of the chair, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

That is indeed a huge step forward after so many months of tireless and ineffective work and everyone in the room seems at a loss of words for a moment, but apparently that’s exactly the reaction Jae was looking for. He looks satisfied.

“Is he in it?” –Jackson asks, apprehensive–. “Do we finally know who he is?”

Youngjae shakes his head.

“Well, no, not yet. I mean, we haven’t had time to go through the video, so–”

“Put it” –Jaebeom interrupts.

“What?”

“The security footage” –Jaebeom says, unfazed–. “Put it now, let’s watch it together. It may contain something important.”

Jae looks at Wonpil, pleased with their new orders because he is always ready to watch a movie with his friends, and Wonpil rolls his eyes. Jae chuckles softly before checking his tablet and a few profile pictures appear on the screen.

“Okay, this was at the Factory gallery, in the Hyoja-dong area” –he says, and starts pointing to the photographs–. “These are the curator, the owner, the artist (it was a solo exhibition) and some employees, so we can dismiss them as J when we watch the footage. So, uh, should we watch it now then?”

Youngjae shrugs and looks over the room to see if anyone disagrees, then presses play.

A white-walled room appears on screen, with fluorescent lightning and a real factory-looking vibe, filled with many abstract and conceptual art pieces. Jackson is no art expert (his knowledge on the subject it’s mostly based on if he finds the piece aesthetically pleasing or not), but he still thinks it’s interesting. It’s a relatively small exhibition, with lots of space in the center for chitchat and a long, clothed table near the main door that contains empty wineglasses and some unopened bottles, but there’s no one there yet. It’s still early.

They fast-forward until a man and a woman suddenly enter the room and everyone tenses, but Wonpil quickly informs them they’re the gallery curator and the artist himself, so they fast forward again.

The couple leaves and the curator comes back after a while, looks around, then leaves again. Jackson would be disappointed, but really, watching security footage videos consists on hours of extremely boring day to day behavior until something big happens (if it does at all), so he can’t complain. Nothing interesting happens for nearly an hour of the video, which takes barely five minutes at the speed they’re fast forwarding; but then a man enters the room again and they return to a normal speed again. Everyone looks at Wonpil and he shrugs, shaking his head, and all the agents focus on the new target.

The man matches the description they have of J, just as seventy five percent of the Korean population does, but there’s nothing distinctive about him other than he looks expensive.

He’s checking the artwork, making sure everything is where it should be, but he looks desinterested. His dark grey suit is probably tailored, fitting his slim figure like a glove, with a few locks of hair framing his also slim face. He checks his phone a couple of times, as if waiting for someone to call him.

“Do you think that’s him?” –Bambam asks, unsure.

Jaebeom has his hand on his mouth, thinking.

“I’m not sure” –he finally murmurs, looking at the screen so hard it could pierce it–. “It looks like he’s reporting to someone.”

“He could be talking with the curator” –Suzy suggests.

“I guess…” –Jaebeom sighs, then remind himself to straighten his back. He would never admit it out loud but he’s glad most of his work is done in his office now, because he’s not sure his back would survive a life as a field agent anymore–. “Youngjae, please run a face recognition search. I don’t expect anything to come up, but it’s worth a try.”

Youngjae waits until they have a good frontal frame of his face, even if it’s not a very close one, and thanks God for the good quality of the video. It’s not always this easy, but they have to get lucky at some point, right?

Unfortunately the search comes out empty, as expected.

“He’s not on our database.”

“Keep an eye on him anyway, this may be useful in the future.”

“Got it” –Youngjae says, and presses play again.

The man suddenly looks at the door and starts talking to someone. All the agents are focused on him again as he gives a short nod and bows slightly, and then the curator comes in again, talking to a different man.

This new guy has his head turned to her so they can’t see his face, but he quickly acknowledges the slim man with a subtle gesture and waits for him to bow slightly again. He’s also well-dressed (in navy blue this time), a little broader than the first man; and his hair looks slicked back. The curator looks charmed by him so the conversation must be friendly or, at least, he must be smiling more than the other one, whose expression remains indifferent.

“The one in blue wasn’t on the employees list, right?” –Jimin asks, tilting her head.

“No, he acts like the other guy’s boss” –Jaebeom reasons, but he sounds pensive. He makes a small pause–. “He _may_ be our guy, or one of his right-hand men, though. We should also run a face recognition search, just in case.”

That is easier said than done, after all, and after almost ten minutes of their suspect simply talking and walking around the place they still don’t have a single shot as his face, much less a clear, frontal one. Youngjae frowns, his finger ready to pause the video at any given moment, and Jackson grumbles grumpily. He’s moving his head and wriggling his ass in his seat as if trying to look at him from a different angle; but ends up letting all his weight fall onto his chair with an angry sigh.

“Do you think he knows where the camera is and he’s purposely avoiding looking in its direction?”

“Maybe. At this point… That makes him more suspicious, though, so we must be close” –Jaebeom says, frustrated. There’s something in the back of his mind that he can’t put into words looking at that man–. “Youngjae, fast forward a bit to see if he turns.”

The video doubles its speed and then doubles it again; but not so fast that they would miss movements. Their guy keeps his back to them the whole time, and it’s a, well, nice back after all, but unremarkable nonetheless; which is pretty useless when you’re trying to identify someone. And then, finally and just for a millisecond, he’s surprised probably by an unexpected sound and turns his head just enough for them to see he actually has a face, but turns back so fast they instantly lose him.

“There! Rewind!” –Jaebeom exclaims, curtly. His hand is almost white from grabbing the armrest so tight, but Youngjae stops calmly and rewinds slowly.

There’s barely one frame in which his face is almost frontal and since he’s moving the picture is a little blurry, but that will do. Youngjae tilts his head, suddenly wondering. He looks familiar in a way he can’t describe, so maybe he has seen him in an identification parade or checking at some company’s census.

Jackson notices too, and lets out a small hum. He’s got a side smile.

“That’s weird, he kinda looks like–”

“Youngjae” –Jaebeom orders, his voice strained–, “run the face recognition search. Now.”

Youngjae turns to him, taken aback by that weird behavior, but he really starts to worry when he sees that same disbelieving, _scared_ stare on other agents. He runs the search trying to guess who will match the footage, who would possibly cause that sort of extreme reaction; the few seconds it takes the computer to come up with a result feeling like hours. In the end, when a match finally appears on the screen, even he lets out a softly “no way”.

An awkward silence fills the room, dark and heavy and too quiet, like the whole room is suddenly trapped in the eye of the hurricane. Everyone is simply looking at the screen, eyes empty, trying to process this nonsense.

(Because that’s what it is, utter and pure bullshit.)

On the screen there’s the security footage shot, filled with dots on certain landmarks of the man’s face to compare them with the agency’s database profile picture placed on its right, and below that there are only three (very pointless) words:

PARK JINYOUNG [DECEASED]

Jaebeom takes his hand to his mouth, completely muted.

He’s not really aware of the rest of the room at this point. Every person, every object, every small sound is fading around the edges to focus solely on Jinyoung’s face, like an old, cracked photograph; and for a moment he forgets to breathe.

He’s not even sure of what he’s feeling. He must be feeling _something_ , though, because this is not that empty dullness he knows so well. No, this is different. He should be angry, right? Or maybe relieved. Or sad, or simply shocked. Or everything at the same time, that would be great. He could explode, then. He could scream and fight and hit things and maybe break some furniture, he’s good at that stuff. He’d much rather lose control now than having to deal with the possibility that Jinyoung may be alive, but he can’t even have that. He just– is. He can’t think properly.

It might not be true. That guy could simply _not_ be Jinyoung, which would be reasonable. More reasonable than pretending he is back from the dead, at least. Just a random man that, by sheer coincidence, looks exactly like him, walks exactly like him and moves exactly like him. If he could listen to him, he could be sure...

If Jaebeom were more aware he would have felt Jackson stare, but he is completely disconnected. Jackson sighs and looks around then, paralyzed and feeling out of place.

He should be appalled, he knows, and he _is_ ; but the weird part is that he mostly feels excited. He feels genuinely happy, as embarrassing as it is, because this means he will actually meet Jinyoung; but he’s not sure his brain has fully processed the fact that even if he does, Jinyoung would be the bad guy. He would be the _enemy_.

But maybe it doesn’t matter, as long as he can meet him. It is just that passionate, childish enthusiasm of the fan, his inner teenage boy going heart eyes for him. It’s the wonder of meeting your hero in person, and isn’t this whole scenario like a big spy mission? He has been dead for years, so what was the explosion that ‘killed’ him? Was he really in it, was he hurt? Is that why it took him so long to come back, even as a villain? He has managed to be under the radar for so long, Jackson has to admit he’s impressed. Not everyone can do that but, then again, that’s Park Jinyoung living up to his legend.

His curiosity is burning inside him like raging fire but it comes from a shameful place of admiration rather than an actual urge to solve an (allegedly) terrible accident, so he finds it distasteful to discuss it with any of his colleagues expect maybe Bambam and Youngjae, who also weren’t there when it happened. Everyone else looks so utterly miserable Jackson can’t help but feel borderline cruel, not that he can do anything about it: he understands the situation; he just can’t change how he feels about it.

Jackson clears his throat, uneasy. He has never been good at bearing through these situations; he needs constant reassurance that the people around him are happy and content, especially if he, for whatever reason, is not sharing the gloomy vibe.

“This must be a mistake, the software isn’t flawless” –he says, softly, without really believing in it. He feels like he’s apologizing on behalf of the computer, but it’s the only thing he can think of right now since he wishes with all his heart that the results are true.

No one says anything so the words are left there, hanging, and before Jackson can speak again Jaebeom stands up, gathering his things up.

“We should take a break” –he says, his voice trembling but doing his best to sound firm. His hands are shaky–. “We’ll have a meeting tomorrow, first thing in the morning, to discuss our next move. You’re all dismissed now.”

He leaves before anyone has a chance to argue, the sounds of the door opening and closing behind him too loud to be gentle; and the awkward silence gets even worse.

Then, as if abruptly realizing they had been dismissed, Jaebeom’s words work as cue for the other to start leaving. Jae is the first to react, unplugging and collecting all the wires and folding his laptop before softly patting Wonpil’s arm. Wonpil is still standing at the same spot, looking like he has seen a ghost (and, well, he has, in a way), but for once Jae tries to comfort him instead of laughing at him.

“Hey, let’s go” –he says, kindly–. “I’ll walk you to the lab, okay?”

Wonpil nods absentmindedly and follows him, his mind very far from there.

By that time Suzy is already gone, her elegant frame leaving as fast as her pencil skirt allows her without losing her dignity, too busy maintaining a blank expression to say goodbye to anyone. Jimin and Dahyun exchange looks before waving goodbye to the remaining ones and disappearing through the door.

That leaves Jackson, Youngjae and Bambam alone, which eases a bit that heavy weight Jackson feels over his shoulders.

“I feel kinda bad” –Youngjae mumbles. It’s so rare to hear him speak so softly it’s obvious this has also affected him, and Bambam puts a hand on his thigh, reassuring–, “like I should check on Boss or something. He looked dreadful.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to anyone right now” –Jackson says.

“I know, but…” –Youngjae sighs, unconvinced, and gets up–. “I should be there, just in case. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

He waves to them apologetically but still grinning, and they return the smile.

“Good night, Youngjae. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”

Youngjae leaves the door open for them to follow after, but neither Jackson nor Bambam stand up yet. The silence now is still somber but a lot more comfortable than before, and Jackson stretches a bit to get rid of some of the tension.

“So, that was awkward.”

“You tell me.”

Jackson smiles sadly.

“I’ve never seen Boss so affected by anything” –he says, his back completely rested on the back of the chair and looking at the ceiling–, “it was a bit disconcerting.”

“Yeah…” –Bambam agrees, looking at the wall where Jinyoung’s face was projected just a few minutes ago from the corner of his eye. He has never understood what is so fascinating about him–. “You okay, though? I know you worship the guy.”

Jackson blushes, feeling overexposed, and stares at him.

“I don’t _worship_ him, I just think he’s great” –he argues–. “I’m… I actually don’t know what to think, if I tell you the truth.”

“I guess that’s just normal.”

Jackson looks at Bambam for a moment, letting those words sink in. Sometimes the only thing you need is someone to tell you nothing’s wrong, and Bambam always speaks in a way that makes him look so undoubtedly sure of what he’s saying, you _have_ to trust him. Jackson smiles again, more for himself than for show, and even chuckles.

“I guess.”

They stay in silence for a couple of minutes, each of them considering their own problems, until Bambam decides it’s time to go.

“Come on, it’s getting late. We’ll have plenty of this madness tomorrow.”

They quietly leave the meeting room, closing the door behind them since they’re the last ones, and start walking towards their desks. Bambam will probably leave all his paperwork for tomorrow, as he always does, then go home. Today that actually sounds like a good plan, but as soon as the pass by the memorial wall Jackson stops to stand in front of it.

Bambam rolls his eyes and keeps walking, leaving him to deal with his own stupidity by himself, and Jackson exhales deeply.

It feels so different to look at his photo now that they know he’s alive that Jackson is at a loss of words. Now his eyes are darker than ever, his expression more serious, his story more mysterious. Everything in amplified by a hundred percent, and he suddenly has the urge to hear his voice.

He tries to rationalize why did he choose Jinyoung to be his hero; why, among all those fallen agents with all their amazing and tragic stories, his subconscious focused on this young man. He was a legend in the agency, yes, and he had been the first one to get such a perfect score along with Jaebeom that the agency couldn’t afford to not hire him, he had almost a perfect score and he had been well loved by his colleagues; but Jackson hadn’t know any of this the first time he had seen his picture hanging on the wall. The first time he had seen him he had been merely a face in a wall full of faces.

Had it been purely because Jackson finds him attractive, was he _that_ shallow? But, then again, he finds a lot of people attractive, so that couldn’t be it. There has to be more to it, something so deep he’s not deconstructed enough to understand it.

He sighs, changing his weight to his right foot, and crosses his arms.

Maybe it wasn’t a reason, maybe he was just meant to meet him. Miracles happen.

“I guess it was fate, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! We're FINALLY going to start the actual plot of the story, so I hope this chapter wasn't too boring! I feel like I put too much information but there wasn't any action, but this was necessary so thing can get more interesting from now on. I promise you the next chapter will make up for the wait and there will be some jinson at last, I hope it won't take long for me to write it since I have a very clear image of the whole scene in my head C:
> 
> I wanna thank my wonderful betas again, so thank you thank you thank you to Maroa and Picas for putting up with me and this story even though I know you're quite busy :__
> 
> On the other hand, I'm seeing GOT7 for the first time in a couple of weeks in Paris and I'm super excited!! If any of you guys wanna talk about this fic or simply GOT7, I'm @pepidhel on Twitter so come and say hello! Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the next chapter!


	4. File 04

Jaebeom was barely seventeen when he first met Jinyoung.

He was an eager-to-please kid from the country that had a cheeky smile and a petty attitude, but that’s all that Jaebeom can recall from that time since they had merely been acquaintances during their months in the academy: they weren’t even in the same class; they simply coexisted in the same building during a few hours a day.

Jaebeom doesn’t remember the exact first moment he saw him, nor basically any milestone in their relationship. It wasn’t magical or special and the time never stopped for him to have some kind of revelation, there wasn’t a particularly fond memory where he suddenly realized Jinyoung meant something to him; but most of their life together had developed very organically anyway, so he didn’t miss it. That was the truly scary part, actually; that all of it happened without them knowing it was happening just to end in such an abrupt, unforeseen manner. It wouldn’t happen again.

It’s not that he doesn’t remember _anything_ from those years, but the moments spent together felt so disgustingly domestic he wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly when they became a thing. Neither of them was particularly romantic and they didn’t have an anniversary date, so that probably helped.

Oddly enough, their colleagues would tease them and propose a toast on every anniversary of their entrance exam, even if they never knew they were dating (or, at least, they never showed they knew), so they worked with that. It was fun and harmless and Jinyoung always tried to be subtle about the fact that he overdressed on that day, which Jaebeom found absolutely dumb and cute, so of course they would fight over it and then make up later while Jinyoung laughed at him for drinking a strawberry milkshake instead of coffee.

They used to go to a small café that was really far from both their homes and the HSC building, an old secret agent routine; and Jaebeom does remember very well their first “anniversary” there. It wasn’t a date yet (they wouldn’t have one until several months later), but it was close.

At that time Jinyoung used to wear his hair up in what he thought was a very hip hairstyle that actually made him look like a cockatoo, and yet he somehow managed to lighten up the room every time the smile reached his eyes. Or maybe it was simply Jaebeom’s tunnel vision, who knows. Memories can be tricky. He has wondered many times how those same memories would be from Jinyoung’s point of view, but he has never dared to look too much into that line of thought.

Objectively, it was a warm day, sunny and cloudless, and his milkshake tasted sweet. They were sitting near the counter.

“At this point I’m pretty sure I could order by simply saying ‘the usual’.”

“So your plan is to drink the same thing forever” –Jinyoung said, his thick accent slowly dissolving into a Seoul cadence over time but never losing his sarcastic edge.

“Why not?”

“Aren’t you gonna get– bored?”

Jaebeom shrugged, slurping on his straw.

“I’ll deal with that when it happens.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes fondly. His coffee wasn’t too dark but it did taste bitter, he didn’t like to add sugar. It helped him feel like an adult.

“Being too predictable isn’t a good trait to have in this job, don’t you know that?”

“I’ll be unpredictable when I have to be.”

“Such arrogant words…” –Jinyoung said, and maybe, just maybe, his words carried a certain weight and his eyes sparkled mischievously, like daring Jaebeom to take the next step–. “We’ve only been agents for a year and you already act like a senior.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Jinyoung laughed softly, sipped his coffee and then carefully put his pinky between the mug and the table so it wouldn’t make a sound. He didn’t realize that he was doing it most of the time, like when he absent-mindedly bowed to animals or any inanimate object with the size of a person just out of habit or when he covered his mouth while laughing; he was simply that preppy (although he could have fooled a guy with that mohawk-wannabe, that’s for sure).

“It has been a good year, though.”

“Yeah… Better than I imagined, actually” –Jaebeom added, a bit nostalgic but mostly proud–. “I wouldn’t have expected to participate in so many big cases, but here we are. We’re not rookies anymore.”

“I’m still a rookie.”

“No you’re not” –Jaebeom said, frowning. He paused a little–. “Boss just thinks there needs to be a leader even if we’re just a team of two, and I’m older.”

“Boo, old man.”

Jaebeom scrunched his nose and feinted throwing a napkin.

“So how do you see yourself in, I dunno, ten years?” –Jinyoung asked, playing with his teaspoon–. “Would you still be ordering strawberry milkshakes?”

“Why are you so focused on that?”

“I want to have broken some record by that time, like most arrests or most successful case record” –Jinyoung announced, completely ignoring Jaebeom despite being a question directed to him–, “you know, something like that.”

“With me?”

“If it fits.”

Jaebeom snorted.

He had big dreams, too; he remembers the rest of the conversation. He supposes he has achieved some of them, being the new boss and all that, but it all tastes unsatisfactory. Mediocre, somehow. He’s proud of himself, of course he is, and he’s happy with how things are going; but there will always be something missing.

There will always be that small, empty space he tries to fill with more work to maybe reach yet another meaningless achievement in his professional career to feel efficient and competent.

Jinyoung, however, talked about creating a name for himself, about becoming a legend; and it all sounded very grandiose but the truth is he mostly wanted to become someone people would look up to. He never said it specifically, maybe because he himself didn’t know; but it was obvious to Jaebeom that he only wanted to inspire others, to be someone’s hero, to be respected in the better sense of the word. He never was a very practical person, not in the way Jaebeom is, anyway; having sorted out definite, palpable goals in life in contrast with Jinyoung’s vagueness and abstraction.

It wasn’t fame he was after, but rather– recognition. The truth is all that he wanted could be summed up in one sentence, but it was such an overwhelming idea that even if Jaebeom knew it conceptually he had trouble understanding the full extent of it: Jinyoung simply wanted someone to look at him the same way he looked at Jaebeom, and that was too much to handle; specially at that young age.

Not that he’s handling it any better now, despite being way older and presumably way more mature. He’s not sure he will ever do.

He was barely seventeen when he first met Jinyoung, and he was twenty-five when he lost him.

He’s almost thirty-one now, and Jinyoung has suddenly appeared into his life once again.

There’s a part of him that knows positively that Jinyoung is alive, has always been, and had kept himself hidden for medical or safety reasons; and there’s another one (most rational, probably) that understands that all of this is merely a coincidence, that any resemblance is made up by his imagination and he’s stupid for even considering the possibility.

He’s pretty adamant on both theories, as opposed as they seem to be; and if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated and so terrified of verbally externalizing any deep feeling he would try to talk to someone, maybe a therapist or maybe a friend, if he still has any of those close enough that might want to want to listen to him.

But he doesn’t want to sulk, despite what it may look like. They have a job to do, and it doesn’t matter if their guy is Jinyoung or not. He’s a target, and he should be treated as such. That’s the only way he’s going to be able to deal with this case without getting crazy.

It’s been a week since they saw the security footage, a week in which there has been a non-spoken rule about not mentioning Jinyoung’s name even in casual conversations. They call him J, or simply “him”, and everyone understands. They have a clear objective now, which is way more than what they had a few days ago, so at least they’re keeping themselves busy. That’s always good if you don’t want to think too much.

There’s a heavy atmosphere at the office nonetheless, and it’s probably worse for those that were hired after the incident: Jackson is quieter around his colleagues, awkwardly trying to make them smile; Bambam looks wary and untrusting of his own sense of humor and Youngjae is extra careful around Jaebeom, as if any new piece of new information would make him break. He’s honestly not so far from the truth, and it would even be good for Jaebeom to break at some point taking into account that he never had a proper tantrum five years ago but rather chose to bottle every feeling up, which is, well, not very healthy.

When Jaebeom finally enters the meeting room the tech team presentation is already prepared to pop up on the screen at his signal, and all the heads turn to him.

He sees Jackson giving him a small smile, hopeful; and he returns it with a polite nod. It’s not much, but it’s what he’s willing to give today, so Jackson accepts it. It’s weird being the only one excited about the current development of the case, the only one thrilled to get into action without fear of suffering any harm except physical; so he has to proceed with caution. He’d hate to be the reason of any pain caused to his colleagues.

At that moment Jaebeom clears his throat, already chairing the meeting; and the screen lights up revealing a Seoul map.

“Good morning, agents” –he says, looking at them bow. He has always valued good manners–. “I hope you slept well, because I need you to be one hundred percent focused on this next step of the investigation. If anyone has a question please wait until the end of this meeting to ask them” –he adds, earnestly, as if he didn’t say it every time.

He looks around, checking if he’s being listened to, and continues.

“It has taken us a few days, but we finally know when the next party is going to take place. We heard bits of diffused information here and there in routine surveillance missions, since the card couldn’t tell us anything. But knowing what we were looking for made it easier to put the pieces together” –he explains, then takes a deep breath–. “We can’t tell if he will be there for sure, unfortunately, but we can just assume he will.”

He points to a certain area on the map, a small square that contains a green zone in Dongho-ro, and it zooms in. There stands a red arrow right in the center, and that’s where Jaebeom taps.

“The Shilla Seoul.”

Jackson raises his eyebrows. He has never been there, sadly, at least not _inside_ ; but he knows that it is a very expensive and luxurious hotel, so J must be upgrading his game. You can’t climb much more in Seoul than the Shilla.

“There will be a gathering held by Kim Jisoo to celebrate her receiving the Best MC award from tvN10 Awards last month” –Youngjae explains, getting up and standing next to Jaebeom–. “There’s no presence of J’s security team on the internet nor any trail of money so it’s virtually impossible to track them, but we have reports from both Jisoo’s and our usual suspect’s circle that they’re gonna provide bodyguard service at the party, so it’s our best shot.”

“This is purely a scouting mission” –Jaebeom warns, serious, right after Youngjae finishes talking–, “so we’ll use a team of two but only one of them would actually attend the party.”

He makes a pause, pondering the weight of his next words. It’s the logical course of action, even if they’re only being over paranoid; but it implies they accept the possibility that J is in fact Jinyoung, and Jaebeom still has trouble wrapping his mind around that. He sighs.

“We need to be cautious. I don’t want to send anyone who may be recognized” –he says, slowly, then looks directly to Jackson–, “so you’re our only field agent available.”

Bambam grunts.

“Excuse me, sir” –he says, trying not to sound hurt–, “but what about me?”

“You’re still under probation” –Jaebeom sentences, and Bambam shrinks. When he speaks again, his voice is softer–. “But you’re still assigned to agent Case, which means you will be going with him as backup.”

Bambam shuts up, then, and nods reluctantly. Jimin gives him a thumbs up and mouths a silent “fighting!”, and Bambam smiles softly.  He’s not satisfied at all and he will complain to his colleagues later. He will even complain to Yugyeom too, telling him a vague, civilian-friendly version of the story; but he remains quiet for the moment. He didn’t realize before how liberating it is to have someone outside his work environment to talk to, but now he’s super thankful for having that giant baby listen to his nonsense about people he doesn’t and will probably never know.

They talk via text, mostly, because calling still sounds a bit intimate; but it’s more than enough for Bambam, and he hopes it’s also enough for Yugyeom. He just needs to be a little more cautious about it around his workmates, especially Jackson, to make sure they won’t try and snoop around him.

“Agent, we’re not sure if there will be metal detectors” –Jaebeom says to Jackson, ignoring Bambam’s evident annoyance–, “so you will be carrying the plastic taser just in case, which should be more than enough for an assignment like this.”

Jackson makes a face.

“I don’t expect you to engage” –Jaebeom repeats to make sure it’s stressed enough. Jackson is the perfect candidate to infiltrate bad guys’ inner circles because he’s very good at socializing with people and making them trust him, but he’s a little bit _too_ eager to make (fake) friends for his taste when it comes to stealth missions. Suzy is usually his best shot at this kind of assignments, but he has to work with what he has in these circumstances–, “but if you manage to talk to him, make it quick. Don’t waste his time, don’t be memorable. Remember you’re at a public place, full of civilians. Gather as much information as possible, then leave. Those are your orders.”

“Clear as water, Boss.”

“You will also be wearing the smart glasses, so we can be in touch” –Jaebeom says before turning to Bambam–. “You will wait in the car, but you will also have access to our secure line.”

Jackson likes the glasses because they are a lot less suspicious than the earpiece, plus some people felt kind of guilty hitting someone with glasses so he actually had avoided some fights thanks to them.

(They also make him look smarter, not that he needs to.)

“I will be here monitoring your movements from the central, and Bambam will be in the car outside the hotel in case you would need anything; but I repeat: this is solely a reconnaissance mission” –Jaebeom explain once again, his hands placed gravely on the desk–. “I need you to blend in and find him, but that’s all. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Jaebeom is unusually anxious, but Jackson can’t really blame him. He nods again, patiently, and waits for the next order.

“Youngjae will give you a new card for you to enter the party.”

“We had to redo the card since we ripped it to analyze the circuit inside, but the circuit itself is untouched, so you shouldn’t have any problem” –Youngjae adds–. “Remember your card belonged to Kim Dongwan, so be prepared for people asking you about him.”

“Got it.”

Youngjae smiles, pleased; and Jaebeom diverts his attention to another agent.

This is the boring part of meetings, when they’re giving orders to someone that is not you, and Jackson knows he has to pay attention because they all need to be aware of each other’s cases and leads; but he already has his instructions and would rather just start working on them.

He usually spends this time studying his coworkers. Obviously he needs to be observant and perceptive working as a spy, but most of the time he’s just curious about his friends. He likes to know what they’re thinking, how they’re feeling. He thinks he’s a good judge of character. He’s been told multiple times that he tends to think everyone is a good person until proven otherwise, which is, in his opinion, a very civilized and just way of thinking, by the way; so he tries to rely on that.

He glances at Bambam. He’s sorry he’s feeling unappreciated, but he’s simply young and anxious to prove himself to the world, so Jackson doesn’t consider it a very pressing matter. He’ll get over it. He’s staring into his phone, silently placed on the table, and Jackson doesn’t doubt he’s dying to start typing to complain about his situation. He chuckles. There’s definitely someone new on Bambam’s life that Jackson doesn’t know about and he’s itching to know, but he can’t force Bambam to tell him, so he’s just waiting, trying to gather clues in the meantime that can lead him to the answer.

Gossip matters require a very subtle approach, not that Jackson always has it, but he doesn’t want to make Bambam feel embarrassed. Not _too much_ , at least.

Youngjae still stands next to Jaebeom, ready to assist him on his presentation. It’s been two years and Jackson is still unsure on how to approach his boss, but for what he’s seen it’s not much better for the rest of the office so he’s glad he at least trusts Youngjae enough to let him be there for him. It’s not that Jaebeom has a bad relationship with his employees, not at all; plus a lot of them were his workmates before he was promoted so he’s friends with all of them, but there’s a palpable closeness when things start to get too personal. Jackson supposes there’s always more than what meets the eye.

He hopes the hotel party will give him new information about the whole thing, because there sure is a lot he still doesn’t know; and he would love to see his boss lose that permanent weight on his shoulders.

 

\---

 

The day has come.

Jackson looks at himself in the mirror, slowly turning to his side to see how the clothes fit him on the back, and presses his jacket flaps with his hands to make sure they don’t have any wrinkles. He suddenly unbuttons his jacket, tilts his head, then buttons it again. Yes, that’s better. Creative black tie is a tricky dress code to adapt to especially if you don’t want to stand out, either because you’re too crazy or because you’re too formal, but Jackson thinks he’s got it.

His dark navy suit fits his body like a glove, thanks partly to the pants being tailored specifically for him because of his strong thighs. If it wouldn’t make him look like an uptown rich snob (and, you know, if it wasn’t kind of expensive), he would have _all_ his daily pants tailored after having experienced it on his suits.

It simply doesn’t make sense that if they’re wide enough to cover his thighs they’re also too long and it makes him feel short but if he buys them in the correct length they’re too tight on the legs so he feels fat even if he knows it is actually muscle, but, whatever, that’s not the point.

The thing is, dark suits are always a good choice if they are well-fitted. Sure, they can be pricey, but they make you look elegant and professional, they’re actually not that uncomfortable to fight in once you know how to move in them and he knows they make him look taller, so that’s a win-win situation for Jackson in such occasions like these. He knows he can never go wrong.

Until Bambam saw his collection and he learned that, apparently, he _can_ go wrong with a simple suit.

He told him he was going to help him ‘spice things up’, whatever that means because he is spicy enough, and said he needed some color to formal it down a bit. Jackson doesn’t really use much color in his day to day clothes, but he actually likes the idea, and he laughs out loud at Bambam’s expression of pure horror when Jackson proposes he could wear some red Converse instead of his usual black shoes. Bambam said he would take care of everything, and showed up at his house a couple days after with a bag full of colorful, printed button up shirts for him to try on and decide.

In the end, he has kept his usual dark suit with his usual black shoes as the black-tie part of his attire, but, following Bambam’s advice, he got rid of his usual black necktie and has changed his usual white shirt for a reddish-orange one as the creative part. It has a subtle print and it looked much flashier on the hanger than it does on him, with the jacket framing it and its warm color making his eyes look browner than ever.

He looks good, he decides. He shouldn’t be the one saying it, but he does look great.

He passes a hand through his hair, making it go back before falling over the side of his forehead again. He spent at least fifteen minutes looking at himself on the mirror and he’s starting to feel like a teenager getting ready for his first date, bursting with confidence now and deflating because suddenly nothing fits the next moment.

His phone beeps and he takes a long breath, looking one more time at the mirror before checking it is indeed Bambam, and texts him saying he will be down in two minutes.

Jackson has been reminding himself that he might not even see Jinyoung at the gala, that he will only be there to silently lurk around and report back to Boss and that it will more than likely be a rather boring assignment; and yet he hasn’t been this excited to go on a mission in years. When he gets to the car where Bambam is waiting for him, his enthusiasm must be clearly shown on his face, because he is welcomed by a disgusted face.

“Hi there, B.”

“Get in the car, man, you’re depressing me” –Bambam grunts, hands on the wheel, and starts the engine the moment Jackson closes the copilot door–. “Good choice on the shirt, though, but then again all the shirts I gave you were good choices, so I should be praising myself.”

Jackson laughs and fastens his seatbelt, hoping it won’t wrinkle his suit.

“I’m really sorry you have to wait in the car, but it’s not my fault” –he says, genuinely sorry–. “And besides, hey, everything could go terribly wrong and you may have to come and rescue me!”

“As terribly wrong as our total failure at the park?”

“Come on, that’s in the past. You fixed that! You should be proud.”

“And yet I’m the one who has to wait in the car” –Bambam mutters, and he doesn’t want to be bitter, really; but he can’t help it–. “You know what? I hope J thinks you’re ugly.”

“Okay, that’s– really mean.”

“Why do you care about what he thinks?” –Bambam asks, throwing his frustration towards the first thing that comes in his way, his arms way tenser that they should be for a skilled driver–. “He’s a mob bigwig.”

Jackson tilts his head, looking at him, a troubled expression on his face. He’s starting to worry Bambam is actually angry, so he tries to speak softer to have a calm conversation.

“Why do you hate the guy? You haven’t even met him.”

“Neither do you!” –Bambam exclaims, and regrets it right away. If they had been stopped on a traffic light, he would have hit his forehead on the wheel out of frustration. Instead, he just exhaled noisily.

He has never liked Jinyoung. He doesn’t exactly dislike him, either; he’s simply incredibly unimpressed. Everyone seems to have such a strong opinion about him that he feels a little overwhelmed, like his story is some kind of sacred memory and he should be grateful to be part of his legacy at the agency; like dying on the job is some miraculous shit that only holy people are allowed to do. But the memorial wall is filled with dead faces, of older and even younger agents that also lost their lives on a mission, and none of them have that aura of mystery and graciousness around them.

He had lost his father when he was really young, and he remembers him and is proud of him, of course; but he had moved on. He knows that a lot of other people have had similar experiences and he’s not special because of that. Things happen.

It was a passable annoyance before, a small bother when Jackson kept staring at his photograph with loving eyes; but lately, since they watched that security footage, he was always on edge. He had been walking on eggshells for the past week, and as much as he liked going to work the office now felt distant and gloomy, and nobody would actually speak to him about it. He tried putting on a happy face, but he looked disrespectful. He tried changing the subject, but nobody was in the mood. He tried reaching to Boss in order to convince him they would catch him, but he had looked both hurt and appalled.

He gets it, really, he’s the new guy. There always has to be one, it’s not a bad thing; and yes, he’s only been to Korea for almost four months, but he has never felt so utterly out of place as he feels now.

Will he ever be as good as Jinyoung? Will he ever be… enough?

So, yeah, he hadn’t even met him, but he doesn’t like him. He has absolutely nothing to do with him but still Jinyoung had managed to take all the fun from the job, so he’s just being fair. Kind of.

He sighs, deeply and slowly. He tries to focus on the road and swallow his guilt, mentally counting to ten, and his head clears a bit. He doesn’t want to act like a kid, he’s a full grown up, he shouldn’t be having these stupid tantrums. It’s a good day, the sun is shining and the sky is bright blue, and since he has to stay in the car, this will be an awfully easy assignment. It will all be okay, Boss will praise them, and then he will go to sleep; and tomorrow will be a new day.

It will all be okay.

“Are you feeling better?” –Jackson asks, worried but also stern, and it reminded Bambam of a teacher.

“Not really” –he sighs, but his shoulders seem more relaxed–. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I take back what I said, I hope he finds you so hot he spills red wine on himself.”

Jackson smiles softly.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

Bambam chuckles and looks at Jackson’s satisfied expression from the corner of his eye, fondly. What a dork. They drive in comfortable silence for a while, until they can see some big light letters saying THE SHILLA on a huge building towering over everything else just a couple of blocks away, the area already getting packed with cars. Just in time.

“Next time, you’ll be the one going solo” –Jackson blurts, suddenly, realizing they don’t have much time left to be together in the car–. “Don’t let this let you down, I know you have it in you.”

“Yeah” –he says, hesitant, and Jackson’s smile quivers. He doesn’t want to go solo, he would rather never go solo, actually; he simply wants to feel part of something bigger. He needs to belong. Bambam fights the urge to stay silent, parking the car and using that time to order the thoughts in his head, to make an effort to say it out loud; but it never happens–. “It’s not about going alone, though, I don’t mind being paired with you. I mean, I like it.”

“Then we’ll both go, I’d make sure to have two invitation cards next time.”

“I already know what I’d wear and, yes, I would outshine you.”

Jackson snorts.

“Nobody is leaving you behind, kid, I can assure you that” –Jackson says looking at him right in the eye, suddenly very serious, and Bambam is not sure if he’s able to hide the surprise on his face–. “I’ve been the one waiting in the car, and I know it feels frustrating, but this is simply some wax on, wax off lesson.”

Bambam looks blankly at him.

“Please tell me you’ve seen Karate Kid.”

“I’ve heard about it.”

Jackson pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, listen: you’re young. And I know that doesn’t mean you _can’t_ do things, but it does mean you have very little experience, so you need to be patient” –he says, probably oblivious to how much he’s gesturing with his hands–. “I know, I know, that’s not my strong point either, but you have to do the boring parts first in order to learn; and, trust me, waiting in the hardest thing to learn, but it’s _necessary_. Plus it’s not like you’re going to be doing nothing, I really need to know you’re here in case this goes down.”

Bambam looks down, sighing heavily. He thought about rolling his eyes to maximize the teenager being scolded act, but ultimately he knows what Jackson means.

“Fine, I’ll be a good ninja.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that kid studying karate to be a ninja?”

“He wasn’t– It doesn’t matter now. I have to go, but I need to know you’re okay before leaving.”

This time Bambam does roll his eyes.

“I’m okay, my grumpiness has decreased substantially after hearing such an incredible speech.”

“I do sometimes ask myself how can I be so mature. Is it weird if I give you a hug?”

“Please don’t, I’m fine, really” –Bambam says, then opens the glove compartment to change the subject and takes the card invitation and the smart glasses to give them to Jackson. He turns on his own earpiece and taps it a couple of times–. “Boss, can you hear me?”

Jackson places the card on the inside pocket of his suit jacket and puts on the glasses, looking at himself on the rear-view mirror just when a voice talks right next to his ear.

“Stop checking yourself out, we can already see you” –Jae says, followed by a very loud laugh. That’s Youngjae.

Jackson makes a kissy face towards the mirror, and Youngjae laughs again.

“Good evening, agents” –Jaebeom says, and everyone stops fooling around–. “Please check your lines, we’re about to begin.”

“Testing, testing.”

“One, two, three.”

They wait for Youngjae to give Jaebeom a thumbs up (at least they imagine him doing so), and a few moments later Jaebeom speaks again.

“This line is safe. Agent Case, your time starts now.”

“Go make J spill his wine” –Bambam says, and Jackson winks at him and gets out of the car.

The day has come.

He makes sure his clothes are looking great and his glasses are perfectly placed on his nose before he starts walking towards the main entrance, where lots of people are already gathered and the whole place is illuminated not only by the hotel’s stylish street lamps, but also by the many flashes from all the paparazzi waiting there to get their perfect shot.

He can see some celebrities there wearing their best gowns, posing for the cameras or ignoring them in that casual way only truly famous people can; but the hotel itself is truly a sight to behold: the modern looking main building guards a traditional guesthouse that makes Jackson travel back to the Shilla dynasty, wondering if he would ever have enough money to comfortably visit those intricately detailed chambers while also being able to eat for the rest of the month. A roundabout helps framing an abstract fountain, now packed with shiny cars ready to drop their passengers, so Jackson tries to avoid any direct contact with them in his way to the main entrance in case someone is taking pictures.

There are two guys there, confirming the guests before letting them in. They’re tall and slim, both with broad shoulders and steady presences, but one of them wears a playful smirk while the other one looks alert and almost uncomfortable.

“Name, please?”

“Kim Dongwan.”

The smiley one checks a list, then extends his hand.

“Your invitation, please.”

Jackson gives him the card, they make it beep against a small machine, then give it back to him so he can keep walking.

Easy peasy.

“Hey, the girl before you didn’t have to present any invitation” –he hears Youngjae.

“She was Park Chaeyoung” –Jackson answers in a soft tone, never changing his expression or where he’s looking at. It’s difficult to talk to someone on your ear without people noticing you are talking alone, but he has years of experience.

“Oh. She was? I loved her in Playing With Fire.”

“So only criminals need invitations, that’s good” –Jaebeom intervenes, ignoring them. The sound comes a little muffled suddenly, but is quickly fixed–. “If anyone has one, we know how they got them. Keep your eyes open.”

Jackson hums affirmatively and takes a moment to appreciate the entrance hall, its warm colors and super high ceiling making him feel like he’s already in the reception hall, and he quickly scans his surroundings to memorize every exit, corridor and stairs he could use in case he needed to escape. Some hotel worker is guiding the guests towards the elevators to go to the Dynasty Hall I, so he joins the crowd.

“Agent, wait, something’s not working.”

Jackson stops for a moment, as if he were admiring a piece of furniture.

“The video keeps lagging” –Youngjae says, puzzled–. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah. It does sound a bit shaky, though.”

“Damn” –Jackson hears him mutter, and he’s pretty sure Jaebeom grunts–. “Try going near the entrance again, I wanna check something.”

Jackson pretends to be waiting for someone. There are many people so no one is really paying any attention to him, but one can never be too careful, especially in situations like this. The place is beautiful enough not to bore him, at least.

“It gets worse the more you go inside the building.”

“I can only keep the act for so long, guys” –Jackson warns, and smiles to a girl walking pass by him.

Youngjae hesitates, troubled. Jackson hears him typing furiously.

“I think they have a signal jammer and that’s messing with our frequency.”

“You think they knew we were coming?”

“I’m not sure, they may do it every time just to play it safe. I know I would” –Youngjae says, anxious. He swallows before speaking again–. “I don’t think I can fix it remotely and, even if I could, I would need time.”

Jackson can practically see Jaebeom’s frustration and, yes, it is always a bother to have technical difficulties; but they’re certainly overreacting.

It’s a very important and personal mission for his boss, he understands that. He understands that he was chosen simply because he is the only agent the possible target has never met before and that everyone’s nerves are on edge, but to Jackson the decision is clear: objectively speaking this is a very low risk operation, he has faced way worse in all his years working as a spy; so he should simply go in, even isolated. It’s not that he _really_ wants to go in, which, okay, he _wants_ to; is that there’s no reason for him not to.

There’s a job to be done, and he’s going to do it.

“Agent B is still here in case there’s any complication.”

A small silence fills the line.

“The line will probably be completely nullified by the time you enter the hall” –Youngjae warns after a while, his voices breaking that tense quietness; probably more for Jaebeom’s sake than Jackson’s.

“It’s a scouting mission in a public place, it’s not like I’m in danger.”

“So I’m really gonna be here doing absolutely nothing?” –Bambam mumbles. Maybe Jackson’s speech wasn’t _that_ good and his grumpiness is back.

“I can report every hour or so?”

Jaebeom sighs.

Jackson waits, making sure he doesn’t look suspicious; and a lovely middle-aged woman gets near him to admire whatever he’s supposed to be admiring. It’s a lamp, apparently; but like a very artsy, pretentious-looking one, so the woman smiles approvingly at him and he bows slightly. Manners.

“Every hour, agent” –Jaebeom snaps, and Jackson straightens his back–. “I want to know what’s happening. We’ll try to find a way to disable their jammer in the meantime, so keep the glasses turned on; but we’re not very optimistic. Be careful.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Feeling like a kid that has just convinced his parents to let him stay awake later than usual, he finally goes to the second floor and enters the Dynasty Hall I. Any bit of noise that could be heard from the office secure line is long gone, as Youngjae predicted, but against all odds that make Jackson feel –excited.

It’s probably selfish wanting to keep this moment for his own eyes only. It could be seen as rude, even, since he knows that despite all the sentimental value this mission holds for him it’s nothing compared to what it means for his colleagues. They fear what may come out of this, what would change, what it could mean after all their years of mourning. He knows all that, he truly does; and yet he’s genuinely happy that nobody else is going to be present when he meets Jinyoung.

_If_ he meets him, he has to remind himself.

The reception hall is filled with familiar faces, actors and singers and TV hosts chatting with equally rich but less famous people, and Jackson scans the place looking for a small group of guests he can fit in.

He feels at home in places like this, as conceited as it may sound; not because of all the luxury and opulence and general richness of this particular celebration but because of the social, colorful vibe every party emits. Everyone is having a good time, there are smiles and giggles and laughs everywhere you look; but while someone could say they are all phonies who are just pretending and that every group is joined together simply because it will look good in the pictures because all that matters it’s their image, Jackson begs to differ.

Why be so cynical when you can believe in humanity? Jackson knows he has it easy; he’s usually liked from the beginning without making any effort and yes, when he’s working he’s only making contact as a way to achieve his own goal, which is usually bringing up sensitive information for an investigation; but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like his targets.

The thing is, he does have an ulterior move being a spy and all that, but he genuinely appreciates spending time with them. It’s not the same when they’re bad guys and he has to beat them, of course, but even then he has found very interesting and even respectable adversaries. So, yeah, he’s enjoying the party just by being there; and also some young man has been smiling at him since he entered the room, so maybe he should start there.

His hair is slightly bleached and he has a handsome face, plus Jackson loves flirting because it is fun and getting information from a tipsy, horny guy is really easy; but before he can start walking towards him he senses a man staring at him from a distance.

Jackson changes his course graciously to face the other side of the hall like nothing happened, ready to escape the scary guy.

He doesn’t see him anymore but he can _feel_ his eyes piercing through the back of his neck like a predator analyzing his prey, and of course he’s already in trouble. He goes on, his walk steady but relaxed so he can be alert without making a fuss, and it’s going well, he’s reaching one of the walls; and the wall zone usually has less people and more furniture, which is great for hiding or escaping without crashing into anyone, but then–

Someone grabs his shoulder.

The hold isn’t violent, maybe because they’re still surrounded by people; and when Jackson turns his head to see if he needs to prepare himself for a fight he barely suppresses a gasp: it’s the guy from the security video; the one they think is J’s second in command.

His face is like stone, unreadable, his features as sharp and elegant as his suit.

“Kim Dongwan?” –he asks, standing at a polite distance but clearly preventing him from running away. The guy has a subtle but weird accent; Jackson is not sure where it may come from.

He gives him his best smile. If he has to engage, he is going to be as charming as possible.

“Who’s asking?”

“You said your name was Kim Dongwan at the door” –he says, completely ignoring Jackson’s question in a way that is not forced, but rather a simple acknowledgement that he’s the one leading this conversation and it could never be otherwise. He speaks so calmly it makes Jackson wary, like he has everything under control and Jackson is missing some very important piece of information.

“I did.”

“But you’re not.”

Jackson curses mentally, never losing his smile. It’s been barely ten minutes since he lost communication with the agency and he’s already relaying on his plan B, but this was expected, he’s prepared.

“I’m not, that’s true.”

“So how should I be addressing you?”

“Justin is fine.”

“I’m going to need a last name, sir, I wouldn’t want any of the guests filling a complaint because we had a loose stowaway sneaking into our gala.”

Jackson has to chuckle. For a guy with an accent, subtle as it is, meaning Korean isn’t his first language; he sure knows how to speak properly. He wishes Bambam were seeing this, making jokes about the guy’s robot butler’s general demeanor, but you can’t always get what you want.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want that either. I’m Justin Case.”

“Do you have any explanation for such a situation, Mr. Case, or do I have to politely ask you to leave?”

Jackson wonders just how polite that request would actually be and how many punches and blood it would imply, but he guesses as long as he’s inside the reception hall along with all the guests he’s still safe.

“I do, now that you’re asking” –the guy doesn’t flinch, he simply stays there, waiting. He doesn’t look particularly excited about beating him, so maybe he really wants to solve this small mishap peacefully; but then again he doesn’t look particularly anything. He must excel at playing poker–. “I’m friends with Dongwan.”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t explain why you have his knave.”

“I was gonna get to that” –Jackson says, raising his hands in surrender–. “Listen, my man Dongwan is a low profile guy, he doesn’t get in any trouble, he’s smart; you know? But last week he told me he had a little, uh, _encounter_ with some guys that were probably cops and he got scared, so he told me he was probably being watched and gave me his card so I could come in case he was arrested. I haven’t heard from him since that, so I’m assuming he’s in jail.”

The man’s marmoreal face remains unbothered, but maybe he’s simply checking Jackson’s story with what he already knows. His pretty lips twitch slightly, but that’s the only reaction Jackson is getting from him.

“Why choose someone we have never met?”

“Well, I can’t answer that, but Dongwan and I– we have ideas” –Jackson explains, his voice low, as if he were telling him one of his most intimate secrets–. “Plans for the future, you know? About expanding our business. We don’t do much now, some smuggling and whatnot, but with him working at the hospital, having access to so many delicate equipment and drugs? If we would really make use of that? We could get big, with the right contacts.”

Then Jackson has an idea. It’s probably not the best idea, and it would even be against Jaebeom’s rule of remaining unnoticed and not engage unless necessary; but he’s already unavoidably engaged, there are no voices in his ear telling him not to do it and he’s sure he can make the most of it, so why not.

“In fact, he was really expecting he could talk to J about our projects.”

That does cause a reaction. A small one, almost contained; and Jackson is not sure if it’s a good or a bad one, but it’s still there. It’s something.

The man considers it for a moment and Jackson holds his breath without even realizing it. He knows he’s been scrutinized, his words pondered over to see if they may provide what they need, and Jackson stands there with his back completely straightened up and hoping the insoles inside his shoes will help make his legs look longer.

(It probably takes less than a minute, but for Jackson it feels like he’s been waiting for hours.)

The man then opens his suit jacket and extracts a small device from the inside pocket, clicks a small switch and puts it near his ear.

“Hey.”

Oh, so it’s a walkie-talkie. Not very practical, but a smart move if you have the whole building jammed, that’s for sure. Jackson is also a little surprised by the change in his voice, like he suddenly has lost a certain amount of that cold politeness he showed before and is now all business.

A small pause, then a voice. The sound is a bit jumpy, like the connection is not very good; but Jackson somehow knows it’s him. He swallows.

“Yeah?”

“Our mysterious guest is here and wants to meet you, if you’re available now.”

J chuckles humorously and Jackson doesn’t know if he should be offended or not, so he remains silent. It’s like he’s not even there.

“Sure, I’d love to meet our new friend.”

“We’re at the east wall, near the fourth table” –the man says, and hangs up without waiting for a response. Then he looks at Jackson–. “He will be here in a moment.”

Jackson nods, a bit taken aback. This sounds too easy and it’s happening very fast and maybe he’s not as mentally prepared as he thought. He doesn’t know what to expect, though, because maybe this has all been a trap and two huge security guards are going to take him outside; but he’s not going to run away when he’s this close.

He tries not to bite his perfectly well-cut nails.

After barely a couple of minutes trying (and failing) to make some small chat with the guy, who looks like he would rather be anywhere else but here; Jackson sees him raise his head and follow someone with his eyes right behind him, so he turns and, well.

Here he is.

Jackson feels– weird. Not starstruck, because he’s old and professional enough to control that kind of teenage bedazzlement; but he’s not exaggerating if he says J could easily be a movie star. Truth be told, he’s surrounded by actual movie stars, so it may be his own biased judging; but Jackson can’t get his eyes off him.

They say you will be disappointed if you ever meet your idols face to face since you have them idealized in your head, but, for the moment, this is so not the case. His shoulders are a bit wider than Jackson expected, maybe highlighted by his jacket’s shoulder pads, his shiny, black hair is flawlessly slicked back to show his handsome face and his dark three-piece suit probably costs as much as Jackson’s own car; but his face is just the same he’s been looking at for the past two years on the memorial wall. Maybe a bit more squared, a bit more hardened; but his eyes show the same deepness and determination he has always seen.

He moves with a confidence that is almost shy, like he’s unfortunately aware of how much of an impression he leaves and wouldn’t want you to feel intimidated. His clothes are sober, appropriate; his expression warm and witty and, in some way, mischievous.

He seems too nice to be a mafia boss, too young, too– well, _cute_. He doesn’t look like a cold blooded murderer, but Jackson remembers his colleagues telling him how much of an actor Jinyoung was and how Jaebeom was the only one who would always know what he was really thinking, what he really stood for. How Jaebeom would laugh at him and say Jinyoung is like an open book, although everyone else was easily fooled.

Is he being fooled right now? Jinyoung looks like such a genuine person that it must be an act.

And yet…

Now that he has him in front of him it somehow doesn’t feel real. Jackson takes a step back after locking eyes with him and Jinyoung lips curve upwards, his small smile reaching his eyes and creating soft wrinkles on the edges.

The other man approaches him and whispers something to his ear in a voice too low for Jackson to hear, then gestures towards him.

“This is Justin Case” –he says, and Jackson bows–. “He’s a friend of Kim Dongwan.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Case” –Jinyoung says, bowing so slightly it may have been an illusion. His voice is also deeper than Jackson expected, but much more welcoming than the other man’s–. “How can I help you?”

They never mention Dongwan being in jail, so maybe they already know. Jackson doesn’t bring it up. Instead he clears his throat and tries to regain his usual charm, since he’s undoubtedly going to need it; and that’s when he realizes Jinyoung is holding a glass with some bubbly liquid in it, probably champagne, and he smirks. It’s not red wine, but he can still make Jinyoung wet himself with it.

That helps him relax.

“If you don’t mind sharing a bit of your time with me, I’d like to tell you about our ideas for expanding the business.”

“How could I say no?” –Jinyoung replies, apparently (but very possibly falsely) interested; then looks at the other man apologetically–. “I got this, can you go back to Doyoung? I’m afraid I left him hanging.”

The guy simply nods and leaves without another word.

“He’s very efficient, but he sometimes can be a little distant” –Jinyoung sighs–. “He’s only doing his job, I hope you can forgive him if he has caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, there’s no problem. It’s only natural to check if there’s any inconsistency.”

“I’m glad you understand” –Jinyoung says, looking pleased. –. “Just, next time, please try to warn us beforehand. It’ll be easier for everyone.”

“Sure, sorry about that” – Jackson apologizes. He does his best to appear relieved, like he’s telling him this in confidence–. “Dongwan gave me the card so I thought that’d be enough; I’ve never been on such a luxurious party– I guess I didn’t expect to be so noticeable.”

Jinyoung brings his glass closer to his mouth to take a small sip, the movement so light his plump lips barely touch the champagne; and uses that time to check Jackson out. It’s a very careful, well-mannered leer, but a leer nonetheless.

“You’re certainly hard to miss, Mr. Case.”

“It’s the shirt, isn’t it? I knew it was too orange.”

Jinyoung laughs softly, covering his mouth with his hand. A gesture so outdated should be dumb, really, but it’s actually adorable.

“I meant your face, but yes, your shirt is very orange.”

Jackson is silent for a moment, trying to decide if that has been a compliment or not. He decides it’s time to actually try to get some information before he loses himself enjoying the company.

“There’s a lot of famous people here, it’s quite impressive. Do you really know them all?”

“Kinda. Not all of them” –Jinyoung looks around, pensive. It’s probably going to be hard to coax him into speaking; every word that he says seems carefully chosen–. “You have to be careful who you present yourself to, being in this kind of business. You want me to introduce you to anyone in particular?”

“Oh, no, no” –Jackson shakes his head–; “not at the moment, at least. I was just wondering how could you have gathered so many important acquaintances in such a little time.”

“Such a little time?”

“Well, you’re very young, and I hadn’t heard of you until recently, so I assumed…”

Jinyoung smiles, pleased.

“I guess you’re right. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything useful, there’s not a foolproof plan to climb your way up.”

“Now that’s just you wanting to keep your foolproof plan a secret.”

“Maybe” –Jinyoung sips his champagne again, cheeky–. “I simply don’t know if you deserve to know yet, we’ve barely met.”

“Fair enough” –Jackson gives, raising his hands in surrender. They’re a giggle from Jinyoung away from being sweaty but giving the circumstances Jackson is doing okay, his massive crush standing in front of him while he tries to maintain the conversation flowing. He could even say they are sort of flirting and Jinyoung is responding reasonably well, right? It’s not just him. He just needs to push it a bit harder–. “You’re the real deal, though, that’s what everybody else says; so I hope I can earn your trust with time.”

“So do I, Mr. Case” –Jinyoung says and, damn, he does sound truthful–. “I’m always looking to expand my circle of associates to see what they can offer me, you see; I’m not some kind of reckless dictator. I like to know who I’m working with, what they are up to.”

“Well, we’re mostly getting by now, Dongwan and I, I mean; but luckily for us we have great plans to develop in the future.”

Jinyoung tilts his head, like he completely forgot there was another subject in their conversation.

“Ah, yes, of course. That’s why you’re here, right? To see if I can help with your business plans” –Jinyoung says, and Jackson nods.

“I truly think it would be lucrative for you too, I’m not asking for charity.”

There’s a small silence and Jinyoung hums.

“Such a delicate conversation should be held on a more private place, Mr. Case” –he reasons, his fingertips touching the left lapel of Jackson’s suit as if trying to flatten out a wrinkle. His lips are slightly opened, like he were about to bite his lower lip, and the touch lingers a bit too long to be appropriate; but then he seems to suddenly come back to his senses and locks eyes with Jackson–. “Care to join me at The Library?”

Jackson deflates a little. It’s not like he expected him to say any other place, not at all.

He does regret having the secure line with the agency cut now, though. The only blueprints he studied were from the entrance hall and the second floor, where the reception hall is; but he doesn’t know the structure of the rest of the hotel because it’s huge. He has no idea where the library is, nor why it would be open at this hour; but at least it would be quiet.

He is a bit wary about going to a “more private” place where it would be easier to attack him, but he _knows_ when someone is giving him bed eyes and Jinyoung has been doing it since he arrived; not that Jackson is being delusional or whatever. He knows how to handle this kind of situations and as long as he doesn’t drink much in order to be able to keep in control, it should be fine. Jinyoung would even loosen himself up a bit and maybe give some bit of useful information away out of pure horniness, Jackson has seen it many times before; not to mention he may get to make out or even bang him.

(… All for the sake of the investigation, of course.)

He’s alert, and he has a clear objective. He doesn’t really have much to lose, even if they attack him he knows how to defend himself and run if necessary to ask for backup, but he does have a lot to gain. So he says yes.

“Sure” –he accepts, and gesture for him to stark walking–. “Please, lead the way.”

Jinyoung guides him to the ground floor, which is nice because he’s near the exit in case anything goes wrong, and starts walking across the hotel lobby.

 Jackson had expected him to walk before him, actually leading the way, but he consciously remains by his side the whole walk there. By that time Jackson can tell he’s very attentive to detail and this is such a small gesture it shouldn’t mean anything, but it still makes him smile like an idiot to think that Jinyoung is being so courteous with him. It makes him feel– valuable. Validated.

They walk towards a modern, warm-looking lounge filled with leather couches, and before Jackson can get confused by the lack of books he sees some big letters reading The Library – Bar & Lounge on top of the entrance.

Oh, so it wasn’t an _actual_ library. This would have been way easier if Youngjae had been available to tell him all this stuff, not that he thought it weird when Jinyoung told him to go there; discussing business surrounded by books kind of fits his image. But Youngjae could have been his Cyrano, whispering him all kinds of useless trivia to make him look like an expert on the Shilla, both the hotel and the dynasty.

Once inside, Jinyoung chooses a small sofa in front of the fireplace and waits for Jackson to sit next to him before drinking what was left of his champagne glass. The couch looks comfortable and warm, the area surrounded by a low wooden wall so it feels more intimate; and for a moment Jackson thinks there’s no one else there until he sees a uniformed man almost hidden behind a column, watching the entrance.

“You need a drink, Mr. Case. How about some wine?” –he says, and gestures for the waiter to pay attention to them.

He politely nods at them and comes back with two red wine glasses, and Jackson suppresses a smile. If only Bambam knew. Once the waiter leaves, Jinyoung rests his back on the couch and turns all his attention to Jackson, his glass in his hand.

“Isn’t this better than all the noise from the party?”

“Indeed. I just hope you’re not expected there for a while.”

“Do you plan on keeping me busy for long, Mr. Case?” –Jinyoung purrs, his leering voice making Jackson aware of how tastelessly he is sitting and how visible his crotch is from his point of view. Maybe that’s why Jinyoung is sitting cross-legged.–. “I do have all night, if you’re wondering.”

That is a really open invitation and Jackson didn’t expect it so soon, but he loses his opportunity when it takes him a couple of seconds to respond so Jinyoung laughs softly, speaking again.

“I think you were saying how this would be lucrative for me, too.”

“Sure, sure” –Jackson says, but before he adds anything else he looks warmly at Jinyoung. He never lies or flirts simply for the sake of getting laid later, he always means his compliments–. “You have a really beautiful smile, you know that? It’s a pity you always cover it.”

That shuts Jinyoung for a moment, maybe because he’s not used to people being so genuinely sweet, but recovers quickly. He smiles shyly and puts his glass on the table, placing his hand on Jackson’s thigh when he sits back.

“I know your associate works at the Sooncheonhyang hospital” –he says, like the warmth of his hand on his leg isn’t making Jackson swallow. He sips his wine to help his dry throat–. “We could really use some of the equipment there; it has one of the most advance lab supplies of Seoul.”

“That was one of our main points” –Jackson answers, and as soon as Jinyoung’s fingers starts stroking his thigh he has to make an effort to keep focus on what his saying. Even if they’re only touching the fabric of his pants he can feel that lingering promise, and Jinyoung seems to be having fun when he momentarily loses track of what he’s saying–. “We also have access to lots of drugs and it’s relatively easy to make some fake prescriptions, this part is very low-risked.”

Jinyoung hums positively, his fingers reaching the inside part of Jackson’s thighs.

“And, y’know, if we’re careful and not take too much in one time, if we ration it; we shouldn’t get–”

Jackson inhales slowly. That was already his crotch.

“Ah, excuse me. That must be distracting” –Jinyoung says, then (sadly) removes his hand–. “You were saying?”

Jackson has to laugh.

All in all is going pretty well, but he wants Jinyoung to take the first step. It’s one of his main requirements when following this kind of plan since it helps him feel in control of the situation, being the one who allows instead of the one who begs. He wants to prove just how far Jinyoung is going to get on his own, how much does he _wants_ it; because then it will be easier for him to let his guard down.

“We’d need some fake patients, maybe some people that would infiltrate the lab. We have a couple of people inside that would help for a small commission, but we lack manpower if we wanna try bigger things.”

“I can totally do that” –Jinyoung says, then his hand finds its way up to Jackson’s torso–. “Now what would you do for me?”

“That’s up to you” –he says, and turns to face Jinyoung completely. He holds his chin between his fingers, his thumb pressing slightly on his lower lip, tinged with deep, pinkish red because of the wine; and he smirks–. “I have some ideas.”

“Let me guess” –Jinyoung replies, then his hand goes straight to Jackson’s still fully clothed cock. This time, at least, he expected it.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Before losing any more time Jinyoung grabs the back of Jackson’s neck, tightly, and they finally kiss.

It’s hot and impulsive and frankly a little messy, but Jackson would be lying if he said he wasn’t loving every second of it. Jinyoung doesn’t seem to mind that there is still a waiter somewhere in the lounge, his hand firm and his mouth hungry, leading Jackson deeper into the kiss and giving him a false impression of being in charge by letting him decide the pace of it.

His breath is hot against his skin, his lips wet and tasting slightly like alcohol.

 Jinyoung’s hand travels to Jackson’s chest, the touch so intense his shirt is wrinkling around his fingers, like he’s trying to map every muscle underneath no matter the obstacle blocking him from going skin on skin. He goes down, and down, and Jackson’s so caught up in the kiss he doesn’t mind the nails when Jinyoung closes his fist over his abdomen to try and grab some fabric to pull from. The thought of those hands wandering all over his naked body makes him quiver, electrical and greedy and so waited for, and if his own hands weren’t already busy enough he would be helping him to get rid of his shirt.

A hookup is a hookup, and Jackson knows he can’t expect a certain level of intimacy from the other party. He doesn’t mind the urgency, the _yearning_ , though; he can appreciate it, but even then he’s a hopeless cuddler. Jinyoung’s hair is soft and smooth between Jackson’s fingers even with the gel to keep it slicked back, a couple of sloppy locks falling on the side of his forehead, his thumb sweetly caressing Jinyoung’s cheek when it gets near enough.

Jinyoung bites Jackson’s lip a bit too hard, and he gasps.

“Sorry” –he chuckles, his voice a whisper, and Jackson has to really make an effort to shut up and not beg him to bite harder.

Instead he nibbles at his earlobe. He knows he’s getting too eager for his own good, he’s letting himself go a little more with every touch and every kiss, but he just made Jinyoung squirm in his arms and that felt– really good. He hugs him loosely, letting himself get familiarized with his lean body; his hands flat over his back. Jackson would have never thought there would actually be a chance for him to do this, never in his wildest dreams; and honestly all he wants to do now is taste every bit of skin he’s allowed to.

His nose bumps gently with his ear, his tongue and lips brushing against his jaw. Every small sigh that comes out of his mouth gets mixed with the quiet sound of the flames cracking in the fireplace in front of them, thirsty and impatient; and it only makes Jackson more aware of his own heat.

He kisses his way down to the side of Jinyoung’s neck and bites a small portion of that thin skin, definitely a sensitive spot for him, earning a whole moan so amazingly filthy that if Jackson had thought at any moment that he would be as proper as he seems he was completely convinced of his error now. By that time Jinyoung has already pulled his shirt out of his tailored pants and is skillfully unbuttoning it from below, focused, like he just hasn’t given Jackson the boner of his life.

It’s in that moment when Jackson realizes how far ahead Jinyoung is compared to him, who still has three pieces of clothing _and_ a necktie between his hands and Jinyoung’s bare skin, which is incredibly unfair; so he starts untying the knot of his stupid tie.

Which is, well, not as easy as it would seem when part of your brain is busy trying to breathe in the middle of a very deep kiss. He grunts and finally breaks it to actually look at what he’s trying to untie, a small whine escaping from Jinyoung’s lips because of the sudden loss before he notices Jackson’s struggling and puts his hands over his, helping him loosen the knot. He leans forward to get to his mouth again impatiently, but having no hands free to support himself on the couch he ends up falling on top on Jackson, his leg accidentally kicking the table next to them and making the wine glasses stagger.

Jinyoung hides his face on Jackson’s neck, placing small pecks to his now exposed collarbone to counteract his giggles.

“Maybe we should end this on my room” –Jinyoung mumbles against his skin, inviting and a little breathless, and Jackson can only nod, adjusting his glasses.

He gets a wet kiss in response, his tongue licking lustfully on his lower lip before capturing it and sucking softly. Jinyoung’s fingers linger on Jackson’s torso a bit more, admiring and approving, before finally sitting up and offering him his hand.

Jackson would mind having his shirt opened in the middle of the hotel lobby if Jinyoung’s hair wouldn’t look just as tousled, their cheeks red and their lips kind of swollen; but he forgets to have any decorum when his back hits the elevator wall as soon as they get inside to go up to the 18th floor. He can’t help it if being manhandled makes him embarrassingly horny. Jinyoung is barely taller than him and seems less muscular, although most of the time is not about physical strength but having a certain attitude; and he has it.

When he looks at Jackson, cornered between his arms like a very precious and long cherished prey; he has it.

When he lets Jackson remove his necktie completely and start unbuttoning the collar of his shirt only to reward him with a peek of his chest before he grabs Jackson’s face, his thumb pressing over his jaw, to raise his chin and expose his neck. When he licks his Adam’s apple with his tongue flat, hot and wet, a low moan escaping Jackson’s throat.

The way up is long enough for him to kiss Jackson senseless against the wall, their two bodies so close that the buttons in his vest are leaving marks on Jackson’s body, and Jinyoung suddenly opens his legs enough to rub himself against Jackson’s thigh.

He barely notices when Jinyoung grabs both his arms and puts them over his head, the heat becoming too much to be so fully clothed.

“Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” –Jinyoung breathes, hot, his lips still touching Jackson’s and slowly getting his necktie back from his hands.

Jackson feels like all he has seen from him until now has been an act, not that it comes as a surprise for him, but this matches better the face of the mafia godfather he is supposed to be. He can see the ex-spy in him, the field agent; the same way he could see the kid at the memorial wall when they first met just a while ago.

Maybe this is his actual self. Maybe no one else at the agency truly knows this part of him, not even Jaebeom, and that’s why they are all so shocked.

Maybe Jackson could see through him, given the time. He swallows.

“Yeah.”

Jinyoung ties Jackson’s wrists together right before the high-pitched ting that announces they’ve arrived to the 18th floor, but they manage to exit the elevator.

His room is on the third door on the right, a spacious, business deluxe chamber with a wooden and minimalist vibe that Jackson is not going to be able to notice; his five senses focused on anatomy at the moment rather than interior design. Jinyoung guides Jackson across the corridor whispering lewd nothings right next to his ear until they reach his door, where he blindly searches for the key card on his vest.

He opens the door and closes it right behind them, caressing Jackson’s cheek oh so sweetly and giving him the most lustful look while they slowly walk towards the bed, smirking; and honestly Jackson could die right there.

Jinyoung bluntly pushes him onto the bed, making him bounce a little, and swiftly approaches his bedside table to take something out of the drawer. Jackson licks his lips in anticipation thinking of feather-light touches and blindfolds, of a hand on his back pressing him roughly against the mattress while he’s being fucked, of teeth leaving marks on the inside of his thighs. He doesn’t even care about _what_ as long as it’s _now_ ; he doesn’t mind toys, or ropes, or food, or– or whatever he has in mind.

In the time Jackson blinks Jinyoung is standing in front of him, pointing at him with a handgun.

“Who do you work for?”

Jackson is stunned for nearly five seconds.

Jinyoung stands there, tall and powerful, with messy hair and blushed cheeks; but his abused lips are now forming a completely straight line. His suit jacket is open and his shirt collar unbuttoned, but other than that he looks impressively well put for someone who just had a passionately make out session barely a few seconds ago. When Jackson’s instincts finally kick in he quickly rolls out of the bed, ducking in case he fires, and turns just to throw a kick to the back of Jinyoung’s knees; which he easily avoids.

Having his hands tied and his pants unzip puts him in an obvious disadvantage, damn that clever bastard; so punches and high kicks are out of the equation. He tries to catch him from behind between his arms, like a cheap booby trap; but Jinyoung hits him in the stomach with his elbow and grabs his right arm, throws him to the floor with one knee over his breastbone and the gun pressing on his temple. He grunts, hurt.

(This shouldn’t be, you know, kind of _hot_ ; but Jackson has never been a very logical person.)

Jinyoung looks at him, pondering. It makes Jackson feel a tiny bit better to see that his breathing is a little shaky, so maybe this hasn’t been as pathetic as it feels.

“You’re suddenly mute now? Aw, did I get your tongue?”

“I’m mourning. I was really looking forward to the fucking.”

Jinyoung snorts, but he doesn’t seem particularly cheerful. He presses the gun harder against his head and, while Jackson supposes that is scarier, the knee on his chest hurts more. He doesn’t like having trouble to breathe, thank you very much.

“What did you do with that Dongwan guy? Is he dead?”

“Who do you take me for?” –Jackson says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual–. “I told you, he’s in jail. Jeez.”

“So you’re a cop.”

“I do look amazing in a cop’s uniform, you should see me.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. He may have noticed Jackson is slowly trying to undo the knot that is keeping his wrists together, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I really don’t have time for this. I’m gonna count to three, then I’ll shoot. One.”

Jackson doesn’t doubt him.

“We can talk this through? Pretty please? I really felt a connection between us.”

“Two.”

“You know, calling yourself J is kinda lame, like, is just too obvious when you know–”

“Thr– what?”

Jinyoung looks at him, tilting his head and squinting. There’s a small pause and then, very slowly, he relaxes his shoulders. It makes him loosen his grip on the gun, which Jackson is thankful for, and his expression transforms into a sad smirk.

“It is too obvious, I guess. If you’re from the HSC.”

This is it. He should deny it, he should finish untying his hands and punch him in the face, then run for his life and call for backup.

He should, as an agent on a mission.

But that face, that sad expression… It was barely a flash, but it was there. The thing is, he has tried feeling betrayed by him, like everybody else in the agency; but he hasn’t been able to, not even after this. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t a real person for him until right now, or maybe because he’s simply incapable of thinking a person is genuinely evil until proven otherwise. Maybe he’s just stupidly optimistic; and maybe his crush on him, instead of fading, has gotten stronger. That _is_ sort of stupid, though.

Maybe he wants to know what really happened five years ago in the fire, instead of never talking about it and desperately trying to let it in the past.

And he’s just defending himself, right? Jackson has infiltrated his private party and he’s in charge of the security, so obviously he had to deal with him. This doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a bad person; he’s only doing what he needs to survive. He could have killed him if he had wanted to, but he seems to be retreating.

So Jackson simply shrugs.

“You must have expected us, sooner or later.”

He remains silent, still like a marble statue. He bites his lips unconsciously, that gesture the only thing telling Jackson he’s having some sort of inner struggle.

“So what happened?”

“I died. Didn’t you read the files?”

“Well, you’re obviously here.”

“So I didn’t die, then.”

“You’re not really giving me much to work with, here.”

The muzzle of the gun goes from his temple to right below his jaw, stroking the side of his face, and Jinyoung actually smiles.

“You’re a charming fella, I’ll give you that.”

“See? I told you we could talk this through. Listen, how about you let me go, and I go back to the agency saying you beat me and I couldn’t get anything out of you, which is, well, kinda true?”

Jinyoung’s smiles turn into a smirk, a playful one this time; but he never loses that pensive aura he’s been wearing since they mentioned the HSC. The gun is still there, pressed against Jackson’s neck where he can clearly feel his own pulse; and his knee is still there, pushing onto Jackson’s breastbone where he can clearly feel that the air getting into his lungs it’s not enough. Jinyoung can see he has almost freed his hand from the tie, but at this point he doesn’t really care.

He knew this moment had to arrive eventually, sure. It was simply inevitable. He just didn’t put any particular date to it, since he knew it would have been too soon in any case.

Jinyoung looks at Jackson, to his genuine and brave eyes, and wonders what he would be hiding behind it. Everyone have secrets, everyone uses a façade; especially in this business. No one is ever this authentic, this… foolishly trusting, not if he wants to survive; but he knows a good agent when he sees it. He was one, he has worked with the best of them. They were all very good at their job, but they all had built a wall around them; just like him.

He simply doesn’t know what kind of enigma is Jackson yet.

“Okay.”

Jackson blinks.

“Okay?”

Jinyoung gets off him, still pointing his handgun at him, and sits on the edge of the bed. Jackson takes the biggest breath as soon as there isn’t any weight over him, but manages not to cough. He’s been worse.

“Dress yourself and leave. I’m giving you this one opportunity as a token of goodwill, but if I see you again I will kill you on the spot.”

That sounds reasonable. A bit theatrical, but it does give an impression.

Jackson frees himself from the tie, his wrists red and a bit bruised, and stands up to start buttoning his shirt. He never stops looking at the gun, still pointed at him, but it never crosses his mind to try and have a fair fight now that he can use his arms. They have a deal, sort of. Jinyoung takes his walkie-talkie with his free hand, apparently unaware.

“Hey” –a small pause–. “Our friend is leaving now, so don’t mind him. He won’t be a problem.”

 Jackson finishes the last button, tucks the shirt inside his pants and zips them. Well, he’s ready. He probably looks a bit beaten up, but nothing too showy. He’s also pretty sure he has at least a couple of hickeys blossoming in very visible parts of his neck, so after the scene at the hotel lobby right before taking the elevator he doesn’t think anyone is going to be surprised to see him like this, ready to leave. He looks at the door, still wary, but Jinyoung simply gestures towards it.

“Go” –he says, and Jackson has the feeling he’s not exactly looking at him in the eye–, “and tell Jaebeomie I said hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!! I know it's been months since my last update, I'm really sorry, I'm just really slow writing and my usual beta was on a trip so I had to look for a new one, /plus/ this chapter is REALLY LONG. Like, /really/ long. I thought about dividing it into two but I honestly didn't know where to cut so... well. There's finally some (kinda sexy) action, though, so I hope that makes up for the waiting and the lenght.
> 
> The actual plot has finally started!! We now have all the main characters so this can go forward. Where you guys surprised by Jinyoung's behaviour? That scene was very difficult to write, which is shocking to me because I had it planned since the very beggining; but maybe that's why it was so hard to write: I played like a video in my mind, but it wasn't that easy to put it into words.
> 
> I want to thank Maroa y Picas, as always, for putting up with me with this story, and I also want to thank Caren for being by new beta for this chapter!
> 
> I hope you guys liked it and I hope I'm not too slow for the next chapter, which I expect (hope) to be way shorter. 
> 
> If you want to come talk about this fic or just GOT7 in general, I'm @pepidhel at Twitter C:
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. File 05

Jisoo’s party had been an easy job.

Jinyoung had developed a friendly enough relationship with her, not that she knew what he actually did for a living; plus this kind of celebrity events had a surprisingly low percentage of incidents, so Mark was always happy to accept.

The evening remained uneventful, as expected, with barely a couple of a-little-too-drunk gentlemen that were easily taken care of and one non-authorized paparazzi that tried to sneak in by one of the windows (the hotel staff handled that one, so he simply signed some papers to issue him a fine. It was easier than suing them or calling the police, since they tried to avoid any contact with the authorities; and people usually would rather pay than face a trial so it was a win-win situation). Even when he thought they would have a red light with that intruder, the Kim Dongwan wannabe, Jinyoung had been able to deal very professionally with him.

_Too_ professionally, even.

It wasn’t the first time they have let a suspect go, especially when they were low-rank as it was the most efficient way to send a message to their superiors; but not usually this unharmed and never by the front door. He trusts Jinyoung’s reasons, he wouldn’t be working with him if he didn’t; but something feels off tonight and he’s not able to pinpoint what exactly.

Jinyoung would never let it show on his face but he had spent the rest of the gala in a weird state between pensive and watchful, like a sudden anxiety wouldn’t let him focus on so many things at the same time and he was trying to compartmentalize his brain to think of a solution while also making small talk with the guests. He did a very good job at fooling everyone else, of course, and he spoke as charmingly as ever; but that guy must have done or said something really worrying to put him in such a mood. Mark wonders.

When the gala ended and only their own security team remained in the area to remove all their electronic devices they had previously installed, he finds Jinyoung supervising some paperwork to check that nothing is missing.

“Hey.”

Jinyoung looks up and he seems startled for a millisecond.

“Ah, Mark” –he says, relaxing his shoulders–. “Did you check with the hotel staff?”

Mark nods, slowly.

It’s still amusing to see Jinyoung come back to his reserved self after almost dethroning Jisoo as the host of the party, but it always comes as a relief.

They don’t talk much. They have already talked in depth about all the important things and they never have a problem to go and discuss something they aren’t sure about or don’t agree with, but they are both terrible when it comes to trivial conversations. Even Jinyoung, at least when he’s not pretending.

But, really, they don’t need to talk that much. Trivial chit chat is simply unnecessary and redundant for their plans, so it’s not that they hate it or don’t want to have it: it simply doesn’t flow naturally most of the time. They’re not exactly _friends_ , if you ask Mark, but maybe ‘associates’ is too vague of a word to describe their relationship, even if it’s probably closer to the truth. They understand each other very well and they have a shared goal, so they trust each other enough to have their own space and enjoy the silence.

Silences that are, however, quite different.

Jinyoung is reflexive, turbulent. Jinyoung’s silences are introspective, and he uses them to battle his own demons. He spends that time trying to understand himself and how his actions affect the world, how his role fits in the bigger picture; but his judgment is always blurred by such a sense of uncertainty, of _abstraction_ , that he finds it difficult to come to a definite answer. That’s why he works so well with Mark.

Mark’s silences are serene. He’s very good at hiding his presence because his aura is always so in tune with their environment that he often goes unnoticed unless he’s actually talking, which gives him a very good point of view to analyze everything else.

He’s a very observant person. He rarely reflects on himself other than understanding his place in society as a human being, but he catches all the little details, the routines, the changes in behavior. After a life of being scrutinized by others, he has learned to counterattack. He’s able to synthesize Jinyoung’s blabbering into something tangible: where Jinyoung needs a whole paragraph to express an idea, he can do it using one word.

That’s also why he tends to focus on things that may look unimportant, and always goes to the point.

“About that Kim Dongwan impersonator” –Mark says, leaving the words hanging in the air, and Jinyoung raises an eyebrow. He knows he’s about to be cross-examined, so he automatically closes his external shell.

“What about him?”

“Who was he a message for?”

Jinyoung presses his lips.

“He’s not going to be a problem.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jinyoung remains silent, but Mark knows this is him testing the waters. He gives him a little more time.

“I have the upper hand now” –he starts, pretending to be reading all the paperwork in his hands. That is still not what Mark asked, but he waits patiently–. “He’s been cautious, sending someone I don’t know. I would’ve caught anyone else at first sight so I guess he doesn’t trust me anymore, but that was to be expected” –he adds, as nonchalantly as his inner struggle lets him, and Mark finally connects the dots.

“Ah” –he sighs, neutral–. “Took them long enough.”

Jinyoung snorts, humorlessly.

“That’s how much he cares.”

Mark tilts his head, weighing that statement.

“Are you okay?” –he asks, then, after a small pause. It’s not sweet or gentle but merely curious, like checking if a machine still works. Jinyoung can take whatever time he needs to sulk as long as he keeps their goal in mind, he has done it before; but this is a very personal matter for him so Mark has to be extremely careful in order to avoid major consequences. They can’t afford to be unfocused, now that they have achieved so much.

“I’m just a bit startled, that’s all. It’ll be over by tomorrow” –Jinyoung states matter-of-factly, and Mark hums.

“If you say so.”

Jinyoung holds his gaze for a couple of seconds, almost defiant; then resolutely returns to his papers without saying a word.

That apparently settles it; but the air suddenly feels– ominous, a disquieting quietness that floats over Mark’s head like the Damocles sword. He can’t really pinpoint the exact source of his uneasiness other than Jinyoung’s moody self trying (unsuccessfully) to convince him that he is over his past, like Mark hasn’t seen that a thousand times before; but he has learned to trust his instincts and, right now, he feels surrounded by red flags.

But maybe Jinyoung is right, maybe it will be over tomorrow. It has just been a few hours, it is understandable that he is still taking it in; plus he hasn’t overlooked any of his responsibilities so far so Mark shouldn’t have any reason to worry.

And yet.

“Have you uninstalled the cameras on the main entrance yet?” –Jinyoung suddenly asks, bringing Mark back to Earth.

“They’re already in the van.”

“Ah, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow, then, I’m afraid. We should show that footage of Mr. Case to our little birds to see if any of them has seen him before while monitoring an exchange or something” –Jinyoung rambles, and he could be talking to himself or giving a speech to thousands of people–. “We shouldn’t interfere with the hotel’s security system so we’ll only check our own cameras, but the ones we put on the main entrance should have a better view of his face than the ones at the reception hall. I want to know who he is.”

“I’ll get on it.”

Jinyoung smiles, pleased, and continues talking as enthusiastically as a Percival who has just discovered the riddle towards the Holy Grail.

“He seemed experienced, despite everything” –Jinyoung hums, deeply in thought and probably going through every detail of his brief rendezvous with the intruder in his head–, “and he wasn’t young enough to be a new recruit. He might be a transferred agent.”

Making such a big deal out of this is probably just his way of diverting Mark’s attention towards work, but for the moment he lets him be and nods. It’s kind of working, anyway.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not Korean, though, so that’s kinda weird” –Jinyoung adds, and Mark has to agree on that one: as a foreigner himself he quickly caught his otherwise quite subtle cadence when talking–. “He may not be working with the HSC’s very core but with some Interpol-related branch, if they had developed something like that. We should also look into that.”

 “You sure got a lot out of him in such a short encounter.”

“I was a spy, Mark” –Jinyoung chuckles–. “That was my job.”

Mark looks at him, wondering if this hyper fixation on the guy is really just a try at changing topics from Jaebeom and the HSC or if Jinyoung is actually _this_ interested in him, and for once he truly hopes it’s the first one.

It’s not that he wants to see him again at his worst, mournful and angry and completely alone. When he found Jinyoung he was a vengeful boy who didn’t know where to channel all his rage and frustration, much like a stray cat incapable of trusting humans anymore, his face too delicate to be so bitter. He had ideals and morals and a deeply hurt heart, but that disheveled young man trying to outsmart his inner demons turned out to be the best remedy for Mark’s own disappointment and general hatred towards the world.

Mark didn’t have a plan then, just a very clear target to blame. He had lots of resources, though, a disgustingly enormous (yet illicit) amount of money; but while he knew how to blend among criminals he never had the charisma or the willpower to create not only a trusted group of employees, but a whole net of informers that would back him up against other gangs. Somehow Jinyoung’s venomous passion had been the missing piece to complete the puzzle.

Mark gave him a purpose, a palpable revenge; and in exchange he got a knight in shining armor to follow.

But it’s been four years now, and he knows Jinyoung. He knows how he thinks, how he handles each given situation. He knows what he finds distracting and what’s not, what makes him curious, what lights a spark in that apparently broken heart of his.  And he knows this Justin Case guy could easily get in his head and become an actual problem.

For a man so meticulous and business-like as Jinyoung, his emotions play a very big part in his decision-making process and he rarely plans with his head, which, for the sake of their project, Mark needs to redirect towards their goal.

 

\---

 

“Agents.”

Jackson and Bambam salute dutifully, a sober 45-degree angle bow before taking a seat in front of their boss’ desk as if they haven’t been in contact since the moment Jackson left the hotel and the communications were restored.

The silence that follows feels heavy, weighing over them like the surrounding pressure of deep waters. The small conversation they had while Jackson and Bambam were still in the car was too superficial to actually address the elephant in the room any more than a neglected ‘yes, sir’ when asked if he had made contact with the target; but now they’re running out of oxygen. Jaebeom takes his time to carefully choose his next words while his employees remain quiet, waiting for him to give them permission to talk; and Jackson tries his best to maintain his posture and not start fidgeting with the hem of his suit jacket.

“I trust you haven’t come back empty-handed” –Jaebeom finally says–, “considering you left the place early.”

“No, sir. As I said before there was a, uh, small quarrel I had to take care of.”

“I can see that” –Jaebeom replies, looking directly at Jackson’s reddened cheek; and his mouth turns into the slightest smirk, which is probably a good sign, until his face comes back to his usual stony coldness–. “Were civilians involved?”

Jackson quickly shakes his head.

“No, sir. It was a one-on-one, outside the reception hall. No witnesses.”

“Are you sure? Those parties are filled with paparazzi.”

“Positive, sir.”

Bambam resists the urge to huff and manages to keep his posture, his spine completely straight against the back of the seat. It’s exhausting to see them walk on eggshells to avoid one simple truth, especially when he is required to be there for the briefing even if he has nothing to say because he spent the whole evening waiting in the car for something exciting to happen.

One could say that he has the advantage of an outsider’s point of view, that his perspective makes everything look sillier and easier than it actually is for the people involved; but being able to see the whole picture without any biases feels like torture right now. He has always hated being a mere spectator, a useless audience that only gets more and more frustrated about an issue that is not even _that_ relevant: J was probably going to be there, Jackson was probably going to run into him at some point, they were probably going to fight when that happened. There is no point in circling around it.

Jaebeom sighs, tired, and twirls the pen in his hands a couple of times before speaking.

“Tell me how they caught you.”

Jackson nods, curtly.

“I was trying to mingle with the guests, see if I could find someone tipsy enough to give me some info while keeping a low profile” –Jackson says, and Bambam wonders just how low profile that mingling was to have left those slightly hidden yet very purple hickeys on his neck–, “then a security guy came to blow my cover. I’m pretty sure it was that same guy we saw on the footage, the slim one.”

“Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not really, he was pretty prudent. I guess he was just testing me, checking on my story to see if I’d snap to make me look like the bad guy” –Jackson hums, frowning–. “Anyhow, he’s obviously high-ranked. Has the authority.”

“Anything on him?”

Jackson shakes his head, but seems to remember something.

“Could we check with international databases? Hearing him speak, he may be a foreigner.”

Jaebeom tilts his head, considering.

He would rather not involve anyone else on this matter, selfishly speaking; and even their carefully selected connections with the police have been paused since they found out who they are dealing with (that is, until the HSC’s private investigation is finished and they can come up with an official, clean statement). But that embarrassment somehow implies there is still a relation, a _bond_ , between the agency and their target; and that is something Jaebeom is not ready to analyze yet.

For the moment, he’s pushing himself to think objectively and follow the standard procedure for cases of this scale.

“I guess the Hong Kong and Thai databases are open to us now, if we’re sharing resources with their intelligence bureaus. It’s a long shot, nevertheless, but it’s worth a try” –he crosses his arms, his face foreseeing a headache–. “So, he caught you. Then what?”

“I told him the story we had prepared. He was a bit reluctant but he’d seemed to buy it, or at least he was invested enough to end up introducing me to–” –Jackson hesitates. The name ‘Jinyoung’ has been unofficially banned from the office, banished to forgotten memories and inner monologues; but he can’t for the love of God bring himself to identify J (the bad guy, the murderer, the _enemy_ ) as the guy he has just met a couple of hours ago, even if he ended up trying to kill him–, “his boss.”

The pause that follows allows the words to settle, but the forged nonchalance they are spoken with dies against Jaebeom’s scowl.

He actually grunts.

“Your orders were not to engage unless necessary.”

“I thought it’d be more suspicious not to do it after giving them my fake speech, sir” –Jackson replies, quickly, trying to placate him. This probably counts as a white lie, if slightly obscuring the truth can be taken as a lie in the first place–. “He seemed interested in collaboration, so I stuck with my role. He asked me some questions, tried to make small chat and that; until he saw he wasn’t going to get anything interesting out of me so he pointed at me with a gun.”

Jaebeom pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

“You shouldn’t have gone with him without backup.”

“I couldn’t reach Agent B because the communications were cut, and going outside the hotel to do that wasn’t an option. I got myself in that mess, sir; I take full responsibility for that.”

Bambam does huff this time, but stays silent. Saying that means nothing when there are no real consequences, not that he wishes Jackson any harm; but he hasn’t fucked up enough to regret making that decision. He’s not even bitter because Jackson won’t have a sanction file opened like him, Bambam is mature enough to know he deserved that because his mistake was way worse for the mission itself than Jackson’s; but he never put his life in danger. Jackson left the hotel with a couple of non-bleeding scratches in his face, a purpling bruise in his chest and a serious case of tousled hair; which is almost nothing for a job like theirs, right? He didn’t have any broken bones, he wasn’t leaving a trail of blood, he wasn’t unconscious. He wasn’t dead.

But he could have.

And, for once, Jaebeom agrees with Bambam.

He watches him make a disapproving face and unconsciously mirrors it, a distant fear crawling in his guts that resurfaces every time Jackson makes a reckless decision like that. He has never understood those people that have zero sense of self-preservation, like risking your life somehow makes more of a statement than staying alive to actually finish the job and be there to protect your loved ones; and that has gotten worse now that he’s in charge.

Damn heroes.

“I accept that I was careless, but I managed. It could’ve been worse” –Jackson says, which is apparently not the best thing to say, judging by the way Bambam is shaking his head in frustration next to him.

“Were you able to disarm him?”

“Uh, well” –Jackson clears his throat–. “It wasn’t really necessary to subdue him, sir. He let me go.”

Jaebeom squints. Something about that statement irks him just like a crooked picture hung in an otherwise perfectly aligned wall and, while he may not be familiar with who Jinyoung is now, with the kind of man he has become; he _knows_ him. He never leaves a work half-finished, but he does plan for the long term.

“Why?”

Jackson shifts nervously in his chair. He knows an incoming storm when he sees one.

“He must’ve been waiting for us to appear at some moment, sir. It’s just natural.”

“How did he know you work for the HSC?” –Jaebeom asks, his voice hard and almost violent–. “He couldn’t have recognized you.”

“He– guessed. I didn’t deny it.”

Jaebeom closes his eyes, exhaling through the nose, and Bambam really wishes to be literally anywhere else.

It’s difficult to explain a hunch, a formless idea that is closer to an abstract feeling than an actual thought you can put into words; but it’s even more difficult to make it look logical. Jackson finds himself trying to give his report the same way he would describe a dream in which he knows something (not think, not believe, but _know_ ) even though he has absolutely no reason to back up his statement, no palpable clues nor any contextual evidence; but it’s so clear in his mind that there’s a lot more than what meets the eye that he can’t leave it alone.

It’s true that Jinyoung was ready to kill him, but Jackson has been in that same position many times in all his years as a spy. Does it matter that much who is holding the gun, haven’t all the agents been in his shoes at some point? Who are they to assume he has turned into some evil mastermind when they all keep such a warm and conflicting image of him from the past; doesn’t he deserve the benefit of the doubt? Jackson knows he is going to sound biased; but isn’t he the only one with an objective, clear from any feeling of betrayal point of view? He mentally goes over the bunch of dead (criminal) bodies that Jinyoung has allegedly left behind and finds very little difference from the HSC’s own killing records, not that he’s any proud of that.

He sounds small and restrained when he finally finds his voice.

“He seemed like a reasonable man, sir; we talked–”

“Are you out of your mind?!” –Jaebeom roars, making a great (yet pointless) effort to keep the meeting private. Youngjae winces, sitting at his desk outside Jaebeom’s office–. “Which part of ‘don’t engage’ did you not understand?!”

“Sir, if you’d listen to me–”

“I’m asking you why he let you go unharmed, agent” –Jaebeom says, sharp and distant–. “It’s a simple question.”

Jackson takes a deep breath and straightens his back. The collar of his shirt is suddenly very constricting, like a rope he’s unconsciously tightening around his throat with every word he says.

“He thought he was being attacked” –he starts, voice steady; his pace strong enough to keep Jaebeom from interrupting him until he’s finished talking–, “so he acted as expected from a security guard whose party has been gatecrashed. I was an uninvited guest, sir; obviously he wanted to know if I meant to cause any trouble. He didn’t want to hurt me once he knew who I was.”

“He’s a criminal, for God’s sake! Act like it!” –Jaebeom shouts–. “There’s only one reason a mobster like him would let you escape, agent; and you know that as much as I do.”

“He didn’t want anything, didn’t have any requirements” –Jackson assures him, gravely. He makes a small pause, then; to try and reconcile his office, business-like persona with the human being, to try and bring a bit of soul to this somewhat aseptic argument–. “He just… when he mentioned the agency, it was almost as if he missed it. Missed this.”

Jaebeom looks at him, stern, absolute; his broad silhouette still as a statue and authoritarian as a king, and both Jackson and Bambam know that something has snapped.

“Do you mean to say you know him better than I do?”

Jackson shuts his mouth.

“Do you mean to say that poor Park Jinyoung had to commit to a life of crime because he had no other choice?” –Jaebeom says, really slowly, despising every single word that comes out of his mouth–. “That he’s not a cold-blooded, well-dressed thug with a twisted sense for dramatics but a tragic, wretched man that misses his old spy days melancholically?” –his voice rises gradually, dangerously; until he’s plainly shouting–. “Is that what you think, agent, is that what you’re trying to make me understand?! Because I gotta tell you, he’s a fucking gangster who doesn’t care for anyone but himself and you’re already trapped in his damn mind games!”

He hits the table and Bambam jumps in his seat, his eyes fixed on Jaebeom’s white knuckles. Jackson is guiltily looking down, lost and isolated from the rest of the room.

He bites his lips, ashamed and contrite, and keeps his head down way longer than he should. His mind is completely blank right now, a vastness of nothing more than that little voice who whispers in your ear that you’re doing the right thing even when it looks like a huge mistake. And it may be a huge mistake, truthfully speaking; so he doesn’t know what to say, how to justify it, how to reply without sounding like a brat who won’t listen to reason.

The worst part is that he gets it, really, the logical part of his brain knows that all that Jaebeom has said is theoretically true; he is just unable to actually believe it.

But Jackson is not a fool, despite what it may look like. It’s not naiveté, either; because he’s plainly aware of the meticulously fabricated façade every human being uses as their public persona, a carefully knitted tapestry that is supposed to hide what we don’t like about ourselves and show only what we want to be seen. A really thin veil, in Jackson’s case; so frail it’s easy to see through it, easy to reach for his heart and stab it where it would hurt the most. He also knows that, of course he knows; but that has never stopped him from caring. He has seen what having a heavy wall built around you look like in Jaebeom, being so protected that nothing can touch you, nothing can reach you. Nothing can hurt you. But a wall is rigid, stiff; a single crack could destroy it from the foundation, while Jackson’s veil is flexible and adaptable: easier to rip, but also easier to mend.

He doesn’t know what Jinyoung’s façade looks like yet, hasn’t had the time to analyze it properly; but he knows it is an elaborated one. It somehow feels like a wall, too; but made out of a weaker material. A wall made of glass, maybe, like some sort of mirror. A surface in which he can reflect on you to readjust himself, to shape his manners and his behavior so they can fit in with whoever is keeping him company.

It’s obvious even for Jackson that Jinyoung will (if he has not already) try to manipulate him, he just hasn’t discovered to what purpose yet; and _that_ is what is killing him: the missing motive, the hidden, primal basis of whatever he’s planning to do beneath all that evil paraphernalia.

No one can change that much.

When Jackson finally raises his head, his eyes meet directly with Jaebeom’s.

“Do your job, agent” –he says, and it sounds almost like an insult–; “and let me do mine.”

Jackson holds his gaze as a sign of respect and acknowledgment and nods meekly. Bambam doesn’t say anything, eyes to the front, but Jackson can feel his sympathy. He may still be upset, but they can always count on each other when it comes to enduring their boss’ temper, and Jackson is deeply grateful for that.

A moment later Jaebeom looks down, back to all his paperwork, and vaguely gestures towards them.

“You’re dismissed.”

They get up, then, exchanging awkward glares. Bambam thinks that maybe having spent the evening waiting in the car is not that bad if it has made him avoid the scolding, but Jackson looks defeated. He pats him in the back, softly, while Jackson grabs the handle.

He smiles, quietly.

Leaving his boss’ office with this bittersweet feeling is always unpleasant, not that it happens very often; but when it does it’s because he has actually done something wrong and he knows he deserves the frustration and embarrassment. Now he feels– torn. Like somehow doing the right thing is not the goal for this mission because of Jaebeom’s spiteful resentment, but maybe Jackson is the one who’s overlooking the obvious because of his stupid crush.

Perhaps he simply needs to justify to himself his own trust in Jinyoung before doing anything else, to have at least some palpable proof that his heart is on the right place in this issue; but it would have to be done behind Jaebeom’s back and Jackson doesn’t like to lie. But then again, he has already lied to him, hasn’t he?

Jackson sighs, and opens the door so Bambam can go first.

“Don’t let him get into your head, Jackson” –Jaebeom suddenly says without looking up, and now he simply sounds tired–. “He’s a liar.”

For just a moment, Jackson thinks he’s heard wrong.

For just a moment he thinks Jaebeom, instead of ‘head’, was going to say ‘heart’.

After a short moment of doubt Jackson lowers his head and closes the door behind them, following Bambam to their workstations where his pile of unfinished and kind of forgotten paperwork waits for him.

Jackson’s desk is almost buried under several folders, spreadsheets and a bunch of mug shots joined together with a clip; and Bambam’s lips curved into a relieved smile when he looks at his own: if there is one good thing about being the ignored backup is that you have to do way less paperwork than the main agent, and he can hear Jackson sigh in resignation when he lets himself fall onto his chair in front of his desk. It will probably help him forget the argument with their boss for a while, though, so maybe it’s not that bad; but Bambam is happy to be able to leave the building soon.

While he is still writing his report he feels his phone vibrating, the device always placed on the table next to whatever he is reading in case he needs to check the hour; and a preview of some texts starts to appear in his lock screen under the name ‘Yugyeom’.

 

[i just read you guys use cloned drug sniffer dogs wtf????

is that evne possible it sounds fake

by you guys i mean the police

please dont laugh at me if its fake]

 

Bambam snorts. They have been texting for more than two weeks now, mostly about silly stuff like this; but even the stupidest joke makes Bambam smile. Maybe it’s because they have the same age, or the same sense of humor, or simply because they both want a simple friendship without thinking too much about what will come; so talking with Yugyeom always eases his worries and helps him relax.

It’s a plus that Yugyeom is very impressible and would marvel at almost everything, if he’s honest. Being the youngest and least experienced in the office can burden him at times, but having such a fanboy hyping the smallest details of Bambam’s daily life at work makes him feel important and respected.

He looks at Jackson, his back hunched over his desk. He’s so used to hear Bambam’s phone that he doesn’t react to it anymore, or maybe he’s too deep into his work to care. Bambam hasn’t told him about Yugyeom yet, although it’s obvious that he knows there is someone; and that makes him a little nervous. It was one thing wanting to hide it in the beginning, and he still has his reasons and thinks it would be devastating to admit he has someone new in his life if it all goes down in the end; but now denying it to Jackson is simply ridiculous. He hasn’t pressed him much about it, which Bambam is thankful for, but he wouldn’t want this issue to create some sort of barrier between them.

He sighs. He would rather talk at home but he’s almost finished with his report, anyway, so he may as well procrastinate a bit before leaving.

 

[lol yes it’s true

well i don’t work with them but yeah

i saw them once they’re super cute]

 

[really???? are u messing with me]

 

[i’m not!!

i was at the airport doing some basic baggage inspection

as a part of my training and they were there]

 

That’s only half true since he was trying to placate an elusive drug dealer who was trying to leave the country, but the fact is that he actually saw the dogs; so he’s not technically lying. He puts the phone down with the screen facing the table, chuckling at Yugyeom’s eagerness, and represses the urge to pick it up when it vibrates again; trying to finish his paperwork so he can leave and focus on the conversation.

A few minutes later, when his report is already stapled and folded, he leaves his desk. Jackson’s still buried in paper and remorse, so focused in whatever he is doing that he doesn’t see Bambam’s gesture of encouragement, but that’s just karma.

The air is a bit chilly outside, the sun gone a while ago, but the first thing Bambam does when he’s outside the building is taking his phone out of his coat pocket.

 

[now i want to see them so bad you did this

are they only at the airport????

ive only been there once but i dont remember seeing

them thi s is so unfair]

 

[aw poor yugyeom lol

i’m sure you’ll see them next time but if not there’s

always google

where did you go btw??]

 

[yeah sure you say that cos youve already seen them

go???? when??????]

 

[when you were at the airport lmao]

 

[ah………..

i was picking up someone actually ive never been on a plane

sorry thats kinda lame shshdnd]

 

Bambam reads the message twice, frowning. Yugyeom’s admiration for him sometimes turns into self-deprecation and then it stops being uplifting, making Bambam feel bad and frustrated.

 

[don’t be silly i’ve only flown once and it was to

come here to Korea so

you know what’s lame?? today i went to work just to be

waiting for my partner and then fill some papers about

how i was waiting for my partner]

 

[ahahahaha]

 

 [not very exciting i admit

he kinda fucked up so i also had to be there listening

to our boss get mad at him]

 

[that sucks man what an asshole

what did he do????]

 

[let’s say they have different approaches]

 

[????]

 

[it’s a long story don’t worry it’s boring anyway

and to end this extremely exciting day i’ll go home

now to lie on my couch and idk be on my phone or sth]

 

[well im watching tv and that was my plan for thw night so

kinda relieved im not the only one]

 

[honestly i have an excuse

i had work today

what’s yours]

 

[i dont like going out alone??? its boring]

 

[sure lol

better watch running man or whatever is on tv right now]

 

[yes??? i thought we were bonding over being lame???]

 

Bambam actually laughs at that.

It’s true that the prospect of going home now to do nothing depresses him a little bit, and actually he _could_ go out by himself to have a drink or something, he deserves it after such a day; he simply doesn’t feel like it. He’s not exactly tired, and it’s not like he hasn’t done it before; but it’s in time like these that he misses his friends from Thailand. He looks at his phone, hesitating.

 

[hey um

so having that in mind]

 

[yea]

 

[i mean since we’re both kinda free

and kinda bored]

 

Bambam takes his time, but Yugyeom doesn’t respond yet. That’s somehow worse.

_would you like to go somewhere_

_what if we meet now_

_there’s a bar i know_

Bambam taps his forehead with his phone. He’s not asking him on a date, not really, so why is he so nervous? He genuinely just wants to talk for a bit, just, you know, dudes being bros; that kind of thing, it should be easy. He’s not a teenager anymore.

He inhales.

 

[wanna hang out for a bit?]

 

“You’re still here?”

Bambam jumps and almost drops his phone, but he’s fast enough to catch it and put it in his coat pocket. He tries to act like Jackson hasn’t caught him red-handed; even if he’s ninety-percent sure his phone has vibrated again as soon as he has hidden it.

“Yeah, huh, I lost track of time”

Jackson chuckles.

“And here I thought you were waiting for me…” –he sighs dramatically, then passes a hand over his hair–. “Well, tomorrow will be another day. I left some of the work for Monday, I feel like my brain is saturated.”

“Maybe the fresh air will do you some good?”

“I think I just need to sleep. You know when you were in high school and you had like too many unorganized information in your head but then you went to sleep and it’s like magically all those facts made sense the next morning?” –Bambam feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket again, like several texts coming one after the other; but he tries to keep focused on Jackson–. “I read somewhere that’s why babies sleep so much, because they’re learning something new literally all the time so sleeping helps their brain manage all that info.”

“You’re rambling.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Bambam smiles softly.  

“So, you’re going somewhere? Night’s young” –Jackson asks, that annoyingly paternalistic yet still sweet tone someone would use when talking with their younger brother.

“Haven’t decided yet” –Bambam says, his phone burning in his pocket.

“What, too cold for you?” –Jackson says, jokingly–. “I’ve always said that coat is too pretty to actually keep you warm.”

“You’re only looking nice today ‘cause I dressed you, so.”

Jackson lets out an indignant gasp; his hand over his heart like an upper class, middle-aged mom that has been told her son is not good enough to be in the school football team.

“I can’t believe you’re being this mean to me, your _mentor_ …”

Bambam hits him on the shoulder, gently, and they both laugh. It’s good to know Jackson remains a constant in his life.

There’s a small silence then. Jackson zips up his ugly winter jacket, the back-up one he keeps in his locker (which, let’s be honest, doesn’t match in any way the formal suit underneath that he wore for the party); but at least he is going home where no one can see that fashion murder. Bambam just stands there, doing nothing, and he would swear he’s even sweating from not knowing what Yugyeom has said to him; but he’s too embarrassed to check it in front of Jackson even if the answer is yes.

Actually, he would be _especially_ embarrassed if the answer is yes. He once saw himself reflected on the screen of his laptop while talking with Yugyeom and, well, he is not very proud of the stupid grin decorating his face in that moment. How can he tell Jackson about his tiny crush if he can’t even hold his gaze thinking about it?

“You can check your phone, kid” –Jackson says, good-humoredly, and Bambam turns his head to him so fast he could have broken it.

“What?”

“Your phone” –Jackson smiles, pointing to Bambam’s pocket–. “You’ve been dying to answer it since I came. I was gonna wait to see how’d you react but you’re literally gonna explode, so. Take it, I’ll leave you alone.”

Bambam bites his lip, feeling guilty and spoiled, his hand hanging dangerously close to his coat pocket. He knows Jackson just need to chat with a friend right now about nothing to help clear his head (God knows Bambam himself has needed it after being the target of their boss’ rage) and he’s blatantly ignoring him, but at the same time he _really_ needs to know if Yugyeom agreed or not.

What if he said yes but since Bambam’s not answering, he changed his mind? What if there were so many texts because Yugyeom said no and is now trying to excuse himself to not make Bambam feel bad?

It’s a relief that Jackson wants to go home to sleep, because if he wanted to go out with Bambam it would put him in a very, _very_ awkward position.

“Wait, just– give me a sec.”

Bambam takes out his phone while gesturing towards Jackson to make him stay but purposely avoiding his gaze, and anxiously presses the power button until the screen lights up and some previews materialize over the dark background.

 

[sure!!!!!]

 

Feeling his shoulders relax from pure relief Bambam exhales slowly, not realizing he was holding it until now.

 

[i have to change tho im n my pajamas

do i have to like

dress fancy????

cos i dont have that kind of clothes……….

what do cops do in their free time do you go to bars????]

 

[we go wherever non-cops go lmao i’m just a person

but yeah i just want to chat and have a drink if that’s ok so

nothing fancy]

 

Bambam says that but he is not going to have time to go home and change, so his sober office suit would have to do. He’s a bit regretful because he does have several outfits planned in case a date happened (not that this is a date, you know, technically speaking); although some ripped, skinny jeans with a dark red knitted jumper plus black boots and a black long coat would have been a show stopper. But then he would also want to shower and style his hair in a less business-like way and probably put some eye-shadow on, and it’s already late enough.

He hopes Yugyeom doesn’t feel underdressed next to him.

 

[cool!!!

i can be ready in 5 then]

 

[nice!

i know a place in hongdae i was thinking we could go there

is a bit small but i like it because it’s not very loud

sounds good??]

 

[yea perfect

i’ll take the subway]

 

[i’ll text you the address so we can meet there]

 

Yugyeom responds with an emoji of a thumbs-up, and Bambam can feel his own smile pushing into his cheeks.

“Are you getting some tonight, then?” –Jackson asks, and Bambam unconsciously hides his phone again, defensively.

“He’s just a friend.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow, wondering.

“Friends are good” –he assures him. His voice is solid but soothing, a nonchalant tone that makes him sound like he is talking about the weather–. “I’ll have to meet him one day, I’m just saying. A photo would be enough.”

He says it mostly as a joke, but Bambam knows Jackson doesn’t really care what Yugyeom looks like so a photo wouldn’t do anything to satisfy his curiosity. It would be way easier to simply show him his face and say, hey, this is him; let him make some comment about his attractiveness and then move on to another matter. But no. Jackson would want to know everything not about Yugyeom, but about how Yugyeom makes Bambam feel; and that is the really difficult part when you don’t even know yourself and you don’t want to make things complicated (and also you kind of hate talking about feelings).

To a certain point, Bambam realizes, Jackson doesn’t care about Yugyeom as a person; but as an entity in Bambam’s life: while he would love to meet him, because Jackson loves meeting new people in general; the ultimate goal would be to see Yugyeom through Bambam’s eyes.

Which is a nice sentiment, really, but also a very invasive one.

“I, huh” –Bambam hesitates–. “I’d prefer to keep him outside anything work related.”

Jackson softens his gaze.

“Ah, well, that I can respect. Do you need a lift?” –Jackson adds, as if Bambam hasn’t driven him to and from the party a few hours ago. He rolls his eyes, gesturing towards the parking area.

“My car’s over there.”

Jackson raises his arms, defeated but smiling.

“Then have fun, kid.”

Bambam nods him good-bye, the chilly night breeze giving him an excuse for the rosy blush on his cheeks and nose; wondering if Jackson could be considered the voice of experience or if age doesn’t really matter when you’re dealing with human relationships.

Could Jackson really see Yugyeom the way Bambam does? Aren’t one’s own personality and baggage so ingrained in ourselves that any attempt to put yourself in anyone else’s shoes will be tainted with your own beliefs? Should we try to form an opinion solely based on our own reasoning or should we trust another human being’s views on the matter?

Before he has taken a couple of steps, he turns back.

“Hey, Jackson?”

“Hm?”

“How can you still think J’s a good guy?” –Jackson seems taken aback, but Bambam keeps talking before he can say anything–. “I don’t wanna sound rude, I’m just– trying to understand.”

He doesn’t respond for a while, but Bambam doesn’t move.

“I guess I’ve always seen something in his eyes.”

“Even today?”

“Yes, even today” –Jackson says in a low voice, his own gaze a turmoil of conflicting emotions–. “ _Especially_ today.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Jackson shrugs.

“Then you guys will be there to help me get up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME AND THIS CHAPTER ISN'T EVEN THAT LONG SO I'M REALLY SORRY I have started uni again to study a new degree so I've had to adjust to my new schedules and reorganize my time, which took a while :C I truly hope you liked it so that kind of makes up for the wait <3
> 
> Compared with all that action hapenning in the previous chapter this was kinda calm, if you take Jaebeom's anger as calm, but you know what they say about the calm before the storm soooo... be prepared!! What did you guys think of Mark and Jinyoung's relationship, was it what you expected?? I have a lot of backstory prepared for both of them so we'll se how things go [eyes emoji]
> 
> As always, thank you to Maroa and Picas for been there for me and this story, you guys are the best <3 And also many thanks to my beta Caren, who find time in her busy uni life to check this <3
> 
> Next chapter may be a long one again, so it may take a while (I hope it won't be as long as this time!); but it'll have some smexy content again so I hope you'd look forward to it C:
> 
> If you wanna talk about the fic or simply chat about GOT7, I'm @pepidhel at Twitter!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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